To Live Again
by Rapscallion7780
Summary: The first story of The Walking Dead: Season 3C. It's the day after "Welcome to the Tombs". Rick makes plans to rebuild the prison; Daryl and Carol retrieve Merle's body for burial.
1. Chapter 1

**THE WALKING DEAD:**

 **TO LIVE AGAIN**

 **Chapter 1**

The iron door to Cell Block C slid open and Rick Grimes stepped out into the cold morning air. The grounds of the West Georgia Correctional Facility were quiet except for the ghostly breeze and the raspy growls echoing from the walkers along the courtyard fence. Rick adjusted the fit of his jacket, walked down the staircase and across the courtyard, with the palm of his right hand resting on the grip of the Colt Python revolver strapped to his waist.

Yesterday the Governor and his army attacked the prison, but Rick's plan of luring him into the tombs – the name for the prison corridors overrun with walkers – succeeded. Once the Governor was inside, Rick's group used a few smoke bombs, the prison's alarm system, and the walkers, to chase him out of the prison, and if they were lucky, out of their lives.

But maybe they weren't so lucky.

Hours before the Governor attacked, Rick had sent his young son Carl, his infant daughter Judith, Hershel Greene and his youngest daughter Beth, into the forest nearby for their own safety. Carl was shocked by his father's decision, and insisted he could help defend the prison. But Rick wouldn't budge, and Carl became sullen and refused to speak to his father as he prepared to leave with Hershel and the others. Their car sped away into the woods, leaving Rick standing in a cloud of dust.

They returned minutes after the Governor fled. Hershel took Rick aside and said Carl killed one of the Governor's men. A man? Hershel said he was barely older than Carl. The boy was following Hershel's orders to surrender when Carl shot him. Rick asked Carl if it was true that he killed a boy and Carl said yes.

But the shocking thing was that Carl said he killed the boy because he wasn't going to take a chance that he would come back and kill them. Like how the walker came back and killed Dale Hovarth, or how the prisoner Andrew came back and killed his mother Lori. Or how the Governor came back and killed Merle Dixon. Carl practically dared Rick to follow the Governor back to the town of Woodbury and kill him before he returned and killed them all.

It scared Rick to hear Carl talk so calmly about killing other people, but he knew that in this situation, his son was right.

Rick, Daryl Dixon, and Michonne drove to Woodbuy with the intention of ending the war. On the road, they saw that the Governor had slaughtered his own army only a few miles away from the prison with Karen as the lone survivor. Once Rick and his team arrived at Woodbury, they discovered it was empty except for Tyreese Williams, his sister Sasha, and the town's women, children and elderly. Wherever the Governor disappeared to, he went alone. What could one man do them?

Rick immediately thought of Shane Walsh. Bad as it was having the world go to shit with the dead coming back to feed on the living, it was worse having his high school friend and partner with the King County Sheriff's Department screw his wife Lori, while he lay comatose

In Harrison Memorial Hospital. Or how a frightened Lori confessed the unborn baby might be Shane's, or how Shane risked the group's stay at Hershel's farm by gunning down the walkers he kept inside the barn, or how Shane lured him into the woods to be murdered. After he killed Shane, nothing was ever the same between him and Lori, or between Carl and Lori.

Rick shivered. One man can do a lot.

Rick stopped in his tracks and cursed at the sight of Glenn Rhee asleep inside the Dodge Ram 150. Glenn volunteered to stand guard last night, and had parked the truck on the courtyard for use as a makeshift sentry box.

Rick looked at Glenn for a moment; the Young Korean had set the seat back and covered his chest with a sleeping bag. A prison riot helmet was on the passenger seat, and an M4A1 rifle was lying atop the dashboard.

"Glenn," Rick said angrily.

No response.

Rick opened the truck's door, and slammed his fist on the horn. Glenn sprang awake with a cry, threw off the sleeping bag, and reached for the M4A1, but Rick pushed him back onto the seat. Rick grabbed the carbine with his other hand and put the barrel to Glenn's chest.

"Don't kill me! Don't kill me!" Glenn screamed, with his eyes closed tightly.

"Good Morning," Rick said angrily.

Glenn's eyes shot open; he looked up at Rick, and exhaled in relief. "Oh, Rick. Thank God."

Rick glared at Glenn's frightened reaction. "Fall asleep on guard duty?"

"I…I…," Glenn panted as he looked around the truck's interior. Finally, Glenn realized he had indeed fallen asleep and lowered his head in shame. "I'm sorry, Rick."

Rick almost reprimanded Glenn, but he noticed the young man's ashamed expression and he reconsidered. Rick stepped away from the truck and looked at the walkers along the fence line. "See anything last night?"

Glenn shook his head. "No."

"Hear anything?" Rick asked.

"No," Glenn muttered, looking up. "Just those walkers growling and shaking the fence; too bad it's not electrified."

Glenn climbed out of the truck and dropped the sleeping bag to the ground. He was wearing the riot gear from the prison armory.

"Alright, go inside," Rick ordered. "You better get something to eat because we've got a lot of work to do."

Glenn blinked. "Doing what?"

"Rebuilding the prison," Rick answered. "First, all those walkers have to be put down. Then we need to replace the main gate; the towers have to be rebuilt, and we have to do something about the collapsed wall out back."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Glenn said bashfully.

Someone whistled behind them. Rick and Glenn looked over at Cell Block C and saw Maggie Greene and Daryl Dixon walking towards them. Maggie wore a jacket. Daryl wore his leather biker vest, a denim jacket with leather sleeves, and torn pants; his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow slung over his shoulder, and he was smoking a cigarette.

"Good morning," Maggie smiled, with a kiss on Glenn's cheek.

Glenn blushed. "Good morning."

Daryl grunted.

"Did you see anything last night?" Maggie asked.

"Glenn glanced at Rick and lowered his head. "No. I—"

"You're both in time for the news," Rick said, while slinging the M4A1 rifle over his shoulder. "Glenn was just telling me that we should start rebuilding the prison today."

Maggie looked at Glenn, impressed. Glenn looked at Rick, who shrugged.

Glenn blushed again. "Yeah. Well, Rick would've thought of that sooner or later."

"You Asians do anythin' else besides thinkin' up new ways to work harder?" Daryl asked in a cloud of cigarette smoke.

"Hey, Daryl, I was out here all night in the cold and with the walkers," Glenn said angrily. "I'm not in the mood for your jokes…"

Maggie slipped her arm around Glenn's and began to pull him towards Cell Block C. "It's alright, Rocky, how about some breakfast?"

"Huh?" Glenn asked bewilderedly. "Uh, sure."

Maggie and Glenn walked towards Cell Block C while Rick grinned and looked at Daryl. "You're good at pushing buttons."

Daryl nodded and watched Glenn and Maggie walking across the courtyard. "Yo, Adrian!" he shouted.

Glenn turned around and pointed at Daryl, "Screw you, man!"

Daryl grinned and gave Glenn the Finger.

Maggie pulled Glenn inside the cell block and the iron door slid shut. Daryl took another drag on his cigarette.

"Seriously, we need to refortify this place," Rick said. "If the walkers don't tear the fences down, a group just like the Governor's will."

"You think he'll come back?"

Rick shifted the weight of the M4A1 rifle on his shoulder. "I don't think so. He killed his own people. He didn't return to Woodbury. It looks like he's not coming back."

"Michonne thinks he will."

"We've got to protect ourselves from the walkers first. Besides, how are we supposed to find him?"

"For Michonne, there ain't much 'we' involved."

Rick shook his head as he and Daryl began walking along the fence line. The walkers, excited by the smell of live flesh, rattled the fence wildly.

"If Michonne wants to look for the Governor, fine. We've got enough here to keep us busy for the next few days."

"You'll have to count me out, at least for a while," Daryl said before taking a drag off his cigarette.

Rick stopped and looked at Daryl. "You're going with Michonne?"

Daryl blew out the smoke and shook his head, "No. I've got personal business."

Rick looked at Daryl, puzzled.

"I'm goin' to get Merle and give him a decent burial."

Rick remembered the events leading to Merle's death: He had led a successful rescue mission into Woodbury for Glenn and Maggie, but unintentionally wound up rescuing the Governor's former lieutenant Merle Dixon. The group argued whether or not to let Merle join them in the prison. That's when Merle bragged that Andrea Harrison, the woman Rick had given up for dead when the Greene farm was overrun by a herd of walkers was alive and in Woodbury.

A few days after the rescue mission, Andrea appeared at the prison. The reunion wasn't cordial, but she was determined to broker a peace between Rick and the leaders agreed to a meeting at a feed mill and negotiate Andrea's proposed treaty: the prison would stay on one side of the river; Woodbury would stay on the other.

But the Governor would have none of it.

The Governor wanted Michonne, a mysterious woman who, during the rescue of Glenn and Maggie, put down his daughter-turned-walker, and stabbed out his right eye. If she wasn't delivered to him, there would be war. A war Rick had no wish to fight. He had lost Lori. He couldn't bear losing Carl and Judith.

The choice was obvious: A stranger's life in exchange for the lives of his children and a group of people he had known for over a year.

So Rick went to Daryl's older brother and repeated the ultimatum. But for all of Merle's racism and self-centeredness, he was disgusted with Rick's decision. But the idea grew in Merle's head and his love for his little brother won over his own judgment. Merle kidnapped Michonne, left the prison, hotwired a car, and drove her to the feed mill to make the trade.

But Merle couldn't make the hard choice either. He let Michonne go, and drove on to the feed mill.

Daryl had gone to stop Merle, and when he returned to the prison, he wept and told Rick he found a field littered with dead bodies with multiple gunshot wounds and walkers feasting on them.

Merle was one of those walkers. Daryl put him down.

War was declared and Rick's group won. But there was one final loss: when Rick and his team went to Woodbury to kill the Governor, they found a sickly Andrea with a dead walker in a warehouse. When Michonne put her hand to Andrea's forehead, she was shocked by the temperature. Then Andrea slowly revealed a walker bite on her shoulder. The bite and its meaning devastated all of them. Andrea said she was glad Michonne found her old group, and that she didn't want anyone to die. Andrea asked Rick for his gun, and with Michonne holding her hand, she took her own life.

Rick shook his head. Merle and Andrea: two more lives lost due to his bad judgment.

"I understand," Rick told Daryl. "You want any back up?"

"No. This is somethin' I have to do myself."

"When are you leaving?"

"Today. I won't have my brother lay in a field any longer. I'm just goin' to say bye to the others before I go."

"Be careful."

Daryl nodded, took a drag on the cigarette, blew out the smoke, and walked back to Cell Block C. Rick resumed his patrol; the walkers behind the fence growling at him as he walked past.

•••

Beth Greene, cradling baby Judith in her arms, entered the common room of Cell Block C. Her sister Maggie and Glenn—who was still wearing his riot armor—sat at a table eating a bowl of oatmeal. Sasha Williams was walking to a table with a bowl in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other. Carol Peletier stood behind a folding table, stirring a ladle inside a pot atop a hot plate.

Beth sat with Maggie and Glenn. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Beth," Maggie said. Then she smiled and gently patted Judith on the cheek. "Good morning, you little rug rat," Maggie said playfully. "Can you say 'Good morning'?"

Judith cried happily and waved her arms, and Maggie laughed in amusement. Glenn smiled at Judith's antics and resumed eating his oatmeal.

"Is daddy awake?" Beth asked.

"He woke up half an hour ago," Maggie said. "I brought him breakfast. I thought he should rest after spending last night checking the new arrivals for any illnesses or injuries."

"So how was last night?" Beth asked.

"Oh, last night. No trouble at all," Glenn mumbled with a mouthful of oatmeal. "Just staring at dozens of rotting faces until the crack of dawn."

"No," Beth corrected with a grin, "I mean how waslast night, _Maggie?_ Did you manage to fall asleep all alone?"

"Shut up, you brat!" Maggie laughed as she playfully slapped Beth's shoulder. Glenn and Beth laughed too, Judith waved her arms happily, and the old people looked quizzically at their young companions. Carol, amused, shook her head and continued serving oatmeal.

"So do you think Rick decided what we're going to do now?" Beth asked.

"Don't ask me," Maggie smiled, "ask your future brother-in-law."

Glenn blushed, but sine Maggie was so proud of him, he decided to continue the lie Rick had started. "Well, last night, as I stood guard, I realized that we have to take back the fence line, replace the gate, and rebuild the towers."

"And what did Rick say?"

Glenn, knowing how badly he was at lying, decided it was best not to elaborate further. "He loved the idea. He'll probably announce it to the group later today."

Sasha appeared at the table and sat on the empty seat. "Excuse me for eavesdropping, but I think those are great ideas."

Now Glenn's guilt was gnawing at him, and he wished he'd just admit that Rick was the one who came up with those ideas. "Thanks," he said remorsefully.

"Okay, so we follow through with Glenn's plans, but what about the biters?" Sasha asked. "There must be over a hundred of them out there."

Glenn, Maggie, and Beth exchanged confused glances over Sasha's question.

"'Biters'?" Glenn asked Sasha bewilderedly.

""Biters"; that's what the Woodburians call the dead," Sasha explained.

"We call them "walkers"," Maggie said.

"Oh, that sounds better," Sasha nodded. "But how do we kill them?"

"Knives and clubs would take most of the day a lot of strength," Maggie said. "I don't think these old folks are going to be much help."

Glenn shrugged. "Then we'll have to shoot them."

"Can we afford to waste the ammo?" Maggie asked.

"We could use the guns the Governor's army left behind," Sasha suggested. "They're all automatic. We could put down those walkers quick."

"Those guns are in the tombs. We'll have to go through dozens of walkers to get them." Glenn said.

"We still need those guns," Sasha reasoned.

"I'll tell Rick about the plan," Maggie said. "If he agrees, Glenn and I will go collect those guns."

Instantly, Glenn placed his hand atop Maggie's. "No. It's too dangerous. The last time we went into the tombs we almost got swarmed and your dad got bit. Rick had to amputate his leg for God's sake."

"We know what to expect now. Besides we need those guns."

"They're not worth risking your life" Glenn argued.

"I'm not afraid of doing my share for the group," Maggie countered.

"Uh, let me ask Tyreese if he'll go with Glenn," Sasha suggested. "When we were in Woodbury, the Governor asked him to draw a map of the tombs."

Glenn turned to Sasha, surprised. "What?"

Sasha raised her hands in calm. "I swear it's not as bad as it sounds. Tyreese knew you guys were good people, and he wasn't going to help the Governor kill any of you. The map Tyreese drew was good, but the route he marked was wrong. It led straight into Cell Block D, that's Walker City."

Glenn looked at Maggie, squeezed her hand, and looked back at Sasha. "Alright, we get Rick's approval first. If he says yes, Tyreese and I will go into the tombs.

"Do I have to shoot walkers? I don't want to shoot walkers," Beth said shyly, hugging Judith.

Maggie gently took Beth's hand. "Honey, you need to try. You're not a good shot."

"Don't feel embarrassed, kid," Sasha smiled. "Tyreese is a lousy shot, too. He couldn't hit a walker if it was breathing on him."

Glenn laughed at Sasha's joke. Beth smiled shyly and bounced Judith on her knee, and Maggie glared at Glenn.

•••

Carl Grimes awoke to the sight of the top bunk of his cell, so he rolled onto his side and stared at his meager possessions on the metal desk screwed into the wall. The

duffel bag, school supplies, textbooks, comic books, and sheriff's deputy hat reminded him of home. If this were home, dad would go buy some paint cans and brushes, and together they'd repaint the ceiling. After that, he and dad would throw the football at the park. Finally, they'd pick up mom and they all would eat dinner at the King County Café. But they lost their home when King County was overrun by walkers. Then they lost mom while bringing Judith into the world. How long would they have Judith before she got sick, or starved to death, or before a walker bit her?

Carl got out of bed and put on his shoes. He placed his dad's sheriffs' deputy hat atop his head, buckled his gun belt around his waist, and took the Beretta 92FS pistol out of its holster. Carl ejected the magazine, and checked its capacity: 14 rounds; 'one in the pipe'. That was a phrase he heard Shane say during gun training last year. Carl's eyes burned with rage and his grip tightened on the pistol.

Last year, a criminal's bullet left dad comatose. Shane drove Carl and mom to the hospital for every visit, encouraging them to stay positive. Days later, Shane drove Carl and mom out of King County as the walkers overran the town. Carl always liked Shane, but once they settled into camp outside Atlanta, Georgia, with other survivors, Carl sometimes felt Shane was trying too hard to be like dad. The way Shane sometimes looked at mom also made Carl feel uneasy.

Then dad surprised everyone by returning from the dead. Carl was elated, but soon felt there was tension between the three adults in his life. Wherever the group went: the camp outside Atlanta, the CDC, or Hershel's farm, there was always tension between the three of them.

The only bright spot was when mom admitted to Carl that he was going to be a big brother.

Now mom was dead, just like Shane, and Carl knew the reasons behind the tension between his parents and Shane.

Mom and Shane had screwed around, and dad might not be Judith's real father.

Carl slammed the magazine back into the Beretta, holstered it, and ran out of his cell.

"Carl," a kindly old voice called.

Carl stopped and walked back to the cell where the voice had called him. Inside the cell was Hershel Greene, seated at the metal desk, and reading his Bible. He gently closed the Bible and looked at Carl.

"Good morning," Hershel said.

"Good Morning, Hershel," Carl said.

"Where are you running off to at this early hour?"

Carl thumbed over his shoulder. "I'm going outside to put down the walkers at the fence."

"Is that something that needs to be taken care of immediately?"

"Someone has to do it."

"I believe that someone is your father," Hershel said gently.

"He won't do anything," Carl said bitterly, "he'll forget about those walkers just like he'll forget about…"

"The Governor," Hershel interrupted.

"Yeah," Carl nodded.

Hershel pointed at his bed. "Sit down, son. Let's talk awhile."

Carl stepped into Hershel's cell and sat on the bed. Hershel turned around on his chair, his one leg dragging across the floor.

"Your father knows the walkers have to be put down," Hershel said. "But Carl, I believe he won't ask you to help do that."

"How do you know?" Carl asked. "Haven't I proven myself?"

"You have; numerous times over. But now it's time to put down your gun and resume your childhood."

"Are you kidding?!' Carl shouted. "The Governor tried to kill all of us yesterday! He wants this prison. He wants what we have. And he'll be back!"

Hershel leaned forward and put a gentle hand on Carl's shoulder. "The Governor won't be back. He's alone now. A man can't survive in this world alone. He's gone, Carl. He can't hurt us anymore."

Carl glared at Hershel for a moment. "Are you saying this because of that guy I shot?"

"He was just a boy, Carl, like you."

"He wasn't anything like me! I've never broken into someone's house looking to kill everyone inside it!"

"He was a scared boy with a gun, Carl," Hershel said gently. "He was trying to surrender."

"You told him 'Drop it, son,' but he didn't listen did he?" Carl argued. "He was coming at me. He was waiting for his chance to kill us, Hershel. Then he would've killed Judith and Beth. I wasn't going to give him that chance."

Hershel shook his head. "No, Carl. He wouldn't have done that. If Rick was there he'd tell you the same thing."

"If my dad was there, he'd have let the guy get away, just like he did with the Governor.

Hershel lowered his head and mulled over his thoughts. He looked up at Carl and sighed. "We didn't need to kill the Governor, Carl. We didn't need to kill his people. All we needed to do was frighten them, and it worked.

"We've all lost so much of who we are; especially you, Carl: your home, your friends, and your mother. You can never get them back, Carl, but there's one thing you can: your childhood."

Carl's jaw dropped in disbelief. "We're surrounded by walkers, there's a nut out there who wants to kill us. But you want me to stay in my cell and play Xbox?"

"I'm not saying that at all," Hershel replied. "I'm saying that you don't deserve to spend each day expecting to kill so you can stay alive. And you don't deserve to live each day in mourning."

Carl bowed his head. "You're wrong, Hershel. I'm sorry, but you're wrong."

Hershel placed a hand on Carl's shoulder, "Tell you what, son: until I'm proved wrong, can you give my advice a chance?"

"I'll try, but don't get mad when I say 'I told you so'."

Hershel laughed. "Can I ask you to learn humility too?"

"No," Carl said flatly.

Hershel chuckled and patted Carl's shoulder. "I appreciate your honesty. Now why don't you go get some breakfast; Carol knows how to cook a good bowl of oatmeal."

"Anybody can cook oatmeal."

"Let me give you one last bit of advice: never critique the cook."

Carl smiled a little. "I _know_ I can do that."

"Good," Hershel grinned. "Now, one last thing…"

Hershel reached for something on his desk.

"What is it?" Carl asked.

Hershel faced Carl, an empty bowl and spoon was in his hand.

"Could you take this bowl back for me? Maggie told me to stay off my feet, or rather, my foot."

"Sure," Carl said as he took the bowl in his hands.

"Thank you."

Carl stepped out of the cell and walked out of the cellblock. Hershel got out of his chair, lay on his bed, closed his eyes, and waited for sleep to pass over him.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Daryl had just entered the vestibule to Cell Block C when he heard the sounds of approaching voices. He stopped and looked up to see Glenn, Maggie, and Beth, carrying Judith walking towards him.

"What difference does it make who gets the guns?" Glenn asked.

"None; so why did you freak out when I volunteered to get them?" Maggie countered.

"I freaked out because I don't want you to get killed!"

"I don't want you to get killed either. Should I act like a bitch every time you tell me that you're going out on a run?"

"Please don't curse in front of the baby," Beth pleaded.

"Which baby is that, Judith or Glenn?" Maggie snapped.

"Come on, Maggie," Glenn whined, "the tombs are crowded with walkers. I'm not exactly looking forward to..."

Glenn looked ahead and stopped. A moment later, Maggie and Beth noticed that Glenn wasn't beside them and also stopped. The three of them saw Daryl standing in front of them, taking a drag on his cigarette.

Glenn, remembered his outburst at Daryl this morning, and beads of sweat ran down his forehead. "Uh, Daryl. About what I said earlier…"

Daryl blew out his cigarette smoke. "Having a little trouble in paradise?"

"The only one having a little trouble is him," Maggie said with her thumb pointed at Glenn. "Meet the new warden: Glenn Rhee."

Glenn rolled his eyes. "Come on. It's nothing like that."

"Wake up call at six, breakfast at six-fifteen, lunch at noon, rec in the yard all afternoon, supper at five, and lights out at ten."

"Maggie…"

"Oh, I'm sorry. That's my schedule," Maggie said, crossing her arms across her chest. "Not unless the Warden intends to order everyone else around!"

"Please, Maggie. I'm not ordering you or anyone else around," Glenn said as he raised his hands for calm. "The tombs are dangerous; we both agree on that. You agree with me, right, Daryl?"

Daryl shook his head, took a drag on his cigarette and blew out the smoke. "I ain't getting' involved in your shit. Who am I, your bowlin' buddy?"

Glenn blinked. Maggie smiled. Beth giggled.

"Actually, I was on my way to tell ya'll bye."

Glenn and Maggie exchanged puzzled glances. Beth held Judith closer. "You…you're leaving us, Daryl?"

Daryl shook his head. "I'm just goin' on a run. Merle's layin' out in that field. I'm bringin' him back an' buryin' him right."

"Why?" Glenn said angrily. "He shouldn't be buried here."

Daryl immediately balled his hands into fists and glared at Glenn, while Maggie and Beth glanced at each other and wondered if Daryl was going to rip Glenn's head off.

"Did you forget that Merle kidnapped Maggie and me?" Glenn asked. "He beat the crap out of me, and then he threw a walker at me!"

Daryl took a step towards Glenn; Maggie stepped in between them and began pushing Glenn back to the cell block's common room. "All right Glenn, stop it," Maggie whispered urgently.

"Merle let the Governor put his filthy hands on Maggie!" Glenn shouted, ignoring his fiancé. "He knew what his boss was going to do to her, but he let that bastard touch her!"

Maggie slapped Glenn, and the young Korean looked stunned at the young woman. "Damn it! Why do you keep going back to that? He only humiliated me; just like you're doing now!"

"I'm sorry!" Glenn said as he rubbed the side of his reddening face. "I just don't think Daryl should risk his life over Merle. Merle was a killer. He wasn't one of us!"

Daryl suddenly lunged forward, grabbed Glenn by the throat and shoved him against the wall. He squeezed Glenn's throat and leaned closer, his blue eyes blazing with fury. "Merle was my brother, you son of a bitch!"

Maggie ran to Daryl's side and tried to pull him away from Glenn, but Daryl had an iron grip. Beth, terrified by Daryl's violent outburst, held Judith closer and backed away from the struggle.

"Daryl, let go!" Maggie shouted.

Daryl grimaced and squeezed tighter on Glenn's throat. The young Korean flailed his arms wildly at the hunter's face in a desperate attempt to break the hold.

"Stop it, Daryl! Stop it!" Beth screamed.

The horror in Beth's voice frightened Judith and she began to cry. Daryl looked over his shoulder at the crying baby, and then looked back at Glenn, who was turning blue. The hunter released his grip, and Korean fell on his backside. He grabbed hold of Glenn's scalp with his free hand and threw him to the floor. Glenn coughed for air and sank onto his side, while Maggie knelt down and pulled him onto her lap.

Glenn looked up and saw a figure standing over him; when his vision cleared he realized it was an enraged Daryl.

"You better learn when to keep your damn mouth shut!" Daryl ordered.

"Dar…Daryl," Glenn coughed. "I…I'm…"

"What did I say, boy?!"

Glenn looked away from Daryl and shook from another coughing fit. Maggie ran a soothing hand across Glenn's back and broke down in tears. "Oh God, what's wrong with you? What's wrong with the both of you?"

Daryl turned to leave when he spotted his lit cigarette on the floor; he stomped on it, ground it into the cold floor, and stomped into the common room. Glenn had another coughing fit; Maggie cradled him in her arms and wept silently. Beth and Judith's cries continued to ring through the vestibule.

•••

Rick stopped his patrol of the prison's fence line the moment he caught sight of the group's cemetery. They had lost so many people in so short a time, and to Rick, he felt responsible for every loss.

When Rick's group moved into the West Georgia Correctional Facility, they found four prisoners who spent a year locked up in the prison's cafeteria while walkers roamed the hallways feasting on the living. The prisoners' names were Tomas, Andrew, Oscar, and Axel.

A tense agreement was made between the two groups: Rick and his group would help clear out a cell block for the prisoners and both groups would stay out of each other's way. But Tomas tried to kill Rick twice. Rick killed Tomas with a machete blow to the head, and then chased his accomplice Andrew, into an enclosed exercise yard...an exercise yard filled with walkers.

Rick shut the yard's door as Andrew screamed for his life. If only he looked back to make sure of what he heard…

Somehow, Andrew climbed over the barbed wire fence and laid out fresh meat to lure walkers into the courtyard. Rick, Daryl, and Glenn were outside the fence gathering firewood for the pyres they'd use to burn all of the dead walkers when all hell broke loose.

Andrew was killed during the walkers' attack, but the damage he caused nearly broke Rick.

T-Dog prevented more walkers from getting inside by closing the courtyard gate, but he was bit in the process. T-Dog and Carol ran inside the nearest cellblock, where he sacrificed himself to two walkers so Carol could get outside.

The other two prisoners were Oscar and Axel. Although they were convicts, they still had morals. Oscar volunteered to help rescue Glenn and Maggie from the Governor, but died because Rick froze when he thought he saw Shane shooting at them. Axel died days later; the group's lone casualty of a retaliatory ambush led by the Governor.

Andrea died because Rick gave her up for dead when the walkers overran Hershel's farm, and when she turned up alive, he never asked her to stay with the group.

But the greatest loss was Lori, who went into labor during Andrew's walker attack. She was hiding in the boiler room with Carl and Maggie when the contractions got worse. Maggie felt Lori's stomach and confirmed what she already knew: the baby hadn't turned inside her womb.

Carl wanted to shoot his way through the walkers in the cell block and get Hershel to help his mother, but she wouldn't let him take that risk.

Lori lifted her shirt, exposing the C-section scar on her stomach, and asked Maggie to cut her open. Maggie immediately refused to perform the fatal surgery, but Lori begged her to save her baby; Maggie reluctantly agreed.

Then Lori told Carl to look out for his father and his baby sibling; told him how much she loved him and how proud she was of him, and she told him to always do what's right, and "Don't let this world spoil you."

Maggie performed the C-section. Judith entered the world, and Lori exited it. Carl put her down.

Rick shook his head regretfully. Four people died because of his mistakes. One of them was the most important person in his life.

Rick walked over to Lori's cross. He looked around to see if he was alone. He had to talk to Lori and he wanted it to be private.

"Good morning, baby," Rick said sadly. "I'm sorry I haven't stopped by to see you, but…"

Rick stopped and chuckled lightly. "Yeah, I hear you loud and clear: 'Something came up,' That's always my excuse."

Rick unslung the M4A1 rifle from his shoulder and knelt before Lori's grave. "You had a girl, Lori," he smiled. "She's beautiful, just like you. Carl named her Judith, after his third-grade teacher. Can you believe that? I always thought when we had a girl, we'd argue over whose mother would get that honor.

"I want you to know, Lori, that when I said the baby was mine regardless of Shane, I meant it. There's no way to be certain Judith's mine, but I don't give a damn about that. I love that baby as much as I love Carl. I won't let anything happen to her, Lori. And I won't let anything happen to Carl."

Rick began to cry, and ran a hand across his eyes. The cold breeze chilled his face and rustled through his hair. When Rick finally composed himself, he looked down again at Lori's cross.

"I also thought you should know that we had some trouble recently. You see, there was this madman called the Governor—ran a town called Woodbury about a day away from here–well, he attacked us yesterday; stormed the prison like it was a castle."

Rick raised a hand for calm and shook his head. "No. No. Carl's okay. Judith's okay. We're all okay. We scared the Governor off with some flash bangs and walkers. "

Rick began to laugh and his shoulders shook with amusement. "The son of a bitch ran out of here like his ass was on fire. I wish you could've seen it."

Then Rick became quiet and stared at Lori's cross. "Oh, Lori, of course you saw it. The Last time I was out here this long, I was running all over the yard, all through the forest, looking for you. You saw when I threw out Tyreese's group. You saw when I was about to sell out Michonne. You saw when I brought in those people from Woodbury. I didn't know why I could see you Lori, but I knew there was a reason why. I know that reason now."

More tears began falling from Rick's eyes and he wiped them away with his hand. "You were guiding me to the truth of our situation. There's no great mystery to it. You knew those two guys with Tyreese and Sasha were dangerous. You knew the Governor was going to attack us. You knew trading Michonne as a peace offering was wrong. And when I returned from Woodbury, and I didn't see you on the bridge, I knew you were at peace."

Rick leaned forward and rested his hand atop Lori's cross. "Thank you, baby," Rick said as he smiled. "Whatever good I've done for this group, I couldn't have done it without you. I never hated you for what went on between you and Shane. You thought I was dead. The world…the world we knew was gone. You can stop feeling guilty over it. And you don't need to guide me anymore."

Rick stood up and slung the M4A1 rifle over his shoulder. He looked at the prison for a moment and looked down at Lori's grave. "We've found a home, Lori and we're going to keep it. We're going to live. Be at peace, Lori. I love you."

Rick turned around and walked back to the prison. By the time he was halfway across the courtyard, he saw Maggie waiting for him atop the staircase of Cell Block C.

•••

Carl entered the common room and walked over to the serving table. When Carol saw the boy approach, she smiled and folded her arms across her chest like a waitress behind a dinner counter.

"Good morning, Carl. Did you sleep well?"

Carl thought back to last night's peaceful, dreamless sleep. And then he thought about waking up to the guilt of how he treated his mother. "I slept fine," he answered.

"So what can I get for you?" Carol asked, "hot cereal, cold cereal, or maybe bacon, eggs, and hash browns?"

"We have all that for breakfast?" Carl asked, his eyes wide like it was Christmas morning.

"No," Carol said shrugging her shoulders. "So don't bother to ask for them."

Carl sulked and stared at his shoes. Carol smiled and tapped the brim of Carl's Stetson hat. "Cheer up, Carl. Now that the Governor's gone, we can put a group together and go on a run. Pretty soon we'll be eating real food instead of the leftovers from the pantry."

"Yeah," Carl said unenthusiastically.

"Good. Until then, breakfast is oatmeal." Carol stirred the ladle in the pot, lifted it up, and poured the hot oatmeal into a bowl and handed it to Carl; the boy looked unenthusiastically at his breakfast and he took a spoon from the cutlery box and sat down at a table.

Carol smiled comfortingly at Carl, but then she heard arguing coming from the vestibule, followed by Judith and Beth crying.

"What did I say, boy?!" Daryl's voice shouted.

Carol's hand clasped over her mouth, and Carl leapt out of his chair and was about to run inside the vestibule to check on Judith and Beth, when Daryl stomped into the common room, with his Stryker Stryekzone 380 crossbow slung over his shoulder and his hands balled into fists.

"Daryl, w-what…?"Carol stammered.

Daryl stopped, looked at Carol, and then looked at Carl, who was glaring at him. Dary grumbled at the memory of Glenn insulting Merle and walked over to Carol. "Can we talk?" he asked.

"Sure," Carol answered nervously as she nodded towards the cellblock; Daryl followed and adjusted the weight of the crossbow on his shoulder. Carl watched the two adults leave, and then he ran into the vestibule to see if Judith and Beth were all right.

"What's wrong, Daryl?" Carol asked.

"Short Round's got a big friggin' mouth," Daryl grumbled as he began pacing the cell block.

"Glenn? What did he say?"

"He pissed all over Merle's body. That damn zip is lucky I just choked him a little."

"You choked Glenn?" Carol asked. "I don't understand. What's going on?"

Daryl waved a hand. "Screw it. I just wanted to say 'bye."

Carol turned pale. "You're leaving?"

Daryl stopped pacing and looked at Carol, stunned. "Hell no! I'm leavin' to get Merle. I'm gonna bury him in the prison."

Carol nodded. "When are you leaving?"

"Right after I tell Michonne."

Carol's complexion returned and she looked at Daryl with determination. "I'm going with you."

Now it was Daryl who turned pale. "No. You don't have to do that."

"You're right. But I want to," Carol said.

Daryl shook his head. "The feed mill's a long ways off. No tellin' what we might run into goin' there and comin' back."

"That's why you need me to back you up."

After a few moments of consideration, Daryl complexion returned and he nodded. "Get your gun and meet me at the Bronco."

Carol nodded, and she walked towards the staircase that led to her cell on the second tier. Daryl adjusted the weight of the crossbow on his shoulder and walked out of the cellblock.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

"Can I talk to you for a minute, Rick?" Maggie asked, while standing atop the landing of the staircase outside Cell Block C.

Rick tucked his hands inside his jacket pockets. "Sure, Maggie," he nodded.

"Sasha overheard Glenn telling Beth about rebuilding the prison; she suggested we could use the guns that the Governor's army dropped in the tombs, but we wanted your approval first."

Rick thought the idea over and began to nod. "That's not a bad idea. There're too many walkers for us to put down with knives, we've got to conserve our ammo, and we can't just leave all those weapons lying in the tombs."

Maggie smiled and turned to go back inside. "Good," she said.

"Did you talk about who would go in there?" Rick asked.

Maggie froze and turned apprehensively to face Rick. "Uh, yeah: Tyreese, Glenn, and me."

Rick blinked and put a hand on the chain link cage that surrounded the staircase. "Are you serious?" he asked.

Maggie nodded.

"The tombs are dangerous," Rick reminded Maggie.

"Yeah," Maggie agreed softly.

"Does your father know about this?"

Maggie glared at Rick and her hands balled into fists. "No, my father doesn't know about this, and it's none of his business!" she shouted. "I'm an adult; I can do whatever I want, and that includes getting killed over some stupid games! I've been an adult these last few years, or do you want to see my driver's license, Mr. Sheriff's Deputy?!"

Maggie stormed into Cell Block C and quickly slid the iron door closed. Rick shook his head and sighed; then he tiredly climbed the steps, slid the iron door open, stepped inside Cell Block C, and slid it closed again.

•••

Michonne sipped her coffee while staring out the barred library windows of the West Georgia Correctional Facility. She hadn't slept last night; Glenn volunteered to stand guard outside, but Michonne had little faith the Korean could be relied upon. A Glock 19 pistol was tucked against the small of Michonne's back, and M4A1 rifle was slung over the back of a chair, and her katanna was lying atop a wooden table. Footsteps approached. Michonne set her coffee cup on the windowsill, and faced the doorway. Daryl, with his crossbow slung over his shoulder, stepped inside the library.

"Mornin'," Daryl nodded.

Michonne nodded in return.

Daryl walked further into the library and looked at the rows of bookshelves stacked with plastic covered hardback books. He walked over to the fiction section, selected a book, and pulled it from the shelf. Daryl gently shook the book in his hand, watching the sprinkles of dust floated down to the floor. He looked at the cover: _Lonesome Dove_ , by Larry McMurtry. Daryl snorted amusingly at the book's title and put it back in its place on the shelf. He looked back at Michonne, and found her still standing at the window, watching him.

"I wanted you to know that Carol and me are leavin' to bring Merle back; I'm buryin' him at the prison. If you've got a problem with that, I don't give a shit."

Michonne gave a small, genuine smile. "I don't have a problem, and I'm sorry for your loss."

Daryl nodded his thanks, and noticed Michonne's sword was lying on a wooden table; but along with the sword were road maps, a compass, a county phone book, Georgia travel guide, notepads, and Bic pens. "Plannin' a road trip?" Daryl asked.

"A hunting trip would be more accurate," Michonne answered.

Daryl walked over to the table and studied the largest map. Michonne had marked the miles from the massacre site of the Governor's army to Woodbury and the nearest towns. "I told Rick what you said about the Governor. Think you'll find him?"

"I'm damn sure going to try," Michonne answered.

"You ain't the only one hungry for payback. How about you wait 'til Carol and me come back, and then we'll go hunt that one-eyed bastard together."

Michonne shook her head. "No. I can't afford to wait."

"Rick thinks the Governor ain't comin' back," Daryl said.

"Let Rick think that. I'll find the Governor and guarantee he doesn't come back."

"You're good, Michonne. But you ain't a tracker," Daryl said. "Just wait a few hours while I do the Christian thing and bury what's left of my natural family."

Michonne stared at Daryl for a few moments, and then turned and looked out the library window. "If I don't find the Governor, he'll come back. I don't know who's with him or who he might find out on the road. You saw what he was like in Woodbury, Daryl. He's a manipulator; a conman. He conned a town of people. He conned Andrea. He'll con more people and lead them here."

The prison library was quiet for a minute, and Daryl finally asked, "When're you leavin'?"

"Today. I'll be gone for a couple of days, so don't plant yourself on the windowsill like a cat waiting for me to come home, okay?"

Daryl grumbled in agreement. "Where will you start?" he asked.

"Woodbury," Michonne answered. "Maybe he's still there; watching, waiting for the right moment to attack again."

"Will you at least accept a ride?" Daryl asked. "You've got a long walk ahead of you."

Michonne turned around, looked at Daryl, and smiled again. "That sounds good. Thank you."

"Meet me and Carol at the Bronco," Daryl said as he turned for the exit. "Don't forget to say 'bye to Rick."

Michonne watched Daryl walk out of the library and listened to the sounds of his footsteps fading down the hallway. She walked over to the long table, picked up her katana, and slung it over her back. She glared at the primary map and traced her finger along the line marking the distance between the massacre site and Woodbury. "Where are you, you son of a bitch?" she asked bitterly.

•••

"Tyreese! Tyreese are you awake?"

Tyreese Williams cursed under his breath and groaned as he sat up in his bunk in Cell Block D. He'd been awake for a while, but it had been months since he felt this comfortable. After Tyreese, his sister Sasha, and their neighbor Jerry ran out of supplies in Jerry's underground shelter, it had been a struggle to survive. They found other survivors and formed a large group, but strength of numbers was no shield from the walkers. In time, all that was left of Tyreese's group was himself, Sasha, Allen, his wife Donna, and their son Ben.

Tyreese had stumbled across the prison, but it was too late for Donna, who was bit before they got inside. Young Carl saved them from the walkers roaming in the prison hallways, and Hershel patched up their wounds. They were allowed to bury Donna in the group's cemetery. In an eerie way, Tyreese was happy for Donna: the nightmare was over for her. Hours later Rick returned, freaked, and threw Tyreese and the group out at gunpoint.

When Tyreese and his group stayed in Woodbury, he had his own room at the hotel, but he slept little; the possibility of a war with Rick's group and Allen's growing animosity towards him had cut his already frayed nerves. Now, Allen and Bob were dead, and the Governor was gone. Rick had taken Tyreese, Sasha, and the surviving Woodburians back to the prison, and let them move into Cell Block D. It seemed like they had found safety at last.

"Tyreese!" Sasha called out again.

"Yeah!" Tyreese answered loudly.

Sasha appeared at Tyreese's cell door; she smiled at her big brother and leaned against the door frame. "Were you sleeping?"

"No. I've been awake for a while," Tyreese answered as he tied his bootlaces. "Did I miss the school bus?"

Sasha laughed. "I'm afraid we both missed it a long time ago."

Tyreese stood, slipped on his tactical harness, slid his framing hammer into its holder, and put on his knit cap. "Well, no sense lying in bed now. I'm going to talk to Rick; see what the game plan is for today."

Sasha placed a gentle hand on her brother's arm. "Uh, before you see Rick, there's something I've got to tell you."

Tyreese turned his large frame towards Sasha.

"Uh, Glenn has this idea of going into the tombs to gather up the guns the Governor's army dropped," Sasha said nervously, "and I, uh…said you'd help him."

Tyreese blinked. "You volunteered me for a job in the tombs?"

Sasha nodded.

"The tombs are loaded with biters; they almost swarmed us when we first got here!" Tyreese shouted. "And you volunteered me to go back in there?!"

"Maggie and her group call them 'walkers'," Sasha said timidly.

"'Walkers'," Tyreese said curiously. "I think I can live with that word; it sounds less violent."

"I'm sorry, Tyreese. But Maggie volunteered to go with Glenn, and they argued, and the next thing I knew I said you'd go with Glenn into the tombs," Sasha cried.

Tyreese ran a hand down his face and sighed, regretting that his outburst had upset his sister. "I'm sorry, Sasha," he said quietly.

"Listen, Tyreese. You don't have to go in there," Sasha offered. "I'll go with Glenn. I should've volunteered in the first place."

Tyreese stood straight, and put a large hand on Sasha's shoulder. "No. You won't, Sasha. I'll go with Glenn. Hell, if I saw him and Maggie fighting over who gets to stick their neck out, I would've volunteered just to shut them up."

Sasha smiled and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Thanks, Tyreese."

Tyreese smiled and gently pulled Sasha towards him and wrapped his powerful arms around her for a hug. Sasha closed her eyes and the last of her tears were absorbed into her brother's pullover shirt. After a minute the two siblings separated, stepped out of the cell, and then, side by side, they walked out of Cell Block D.

•••

Tyreese and Sasha found the two groups outside in the main exercise yard. They were wearing jackets or coats to protect them from the cold, and they were also sitting on the aluminum benches or standing in smaller groups. Rick and Daryl were talking separately from the two groups. Hershel, Carol, and Michonne weren't present.

Tyreese saw Karen talking to some of her friends from Woodbury; when she looked Tyreese's way he smiled and waved a hand. Karen smiled and waved back. Tyreese walked over to Karen and she apologized to her friends and stepped forward.

"Good morning," Karen smiled.

"It's a bit late for good mornings," Tyreese said. "I overslept."

Karen laughed. "Don't feel so bad. My watch's battery on my watch died while I was on the road. I never thought to get a replacement while I was in Woodbury."

"Maybe you shouldn't bother," Tyreese suggested. Time's something you don't have to worry about anymore."

Karen unbuckled her watch and examined the face, hands, and back plate. "No. I'll just find a new battery. You remember the old saying: 'Time waits for no one.'"

Tyreese, shook his head. "My high school football coach used to say that when practice started. Excuse me if I want to forget that old saying."

"Grumpy," Karen taunted before walking away.

"All right everyone!" Rick shouted. "Can I have your attention please?"

Tyreese looked in the direction of Rick's voice. The sheriff's deputy was walking towards the center of the yard. Those in the two groups that were standing quietly moved to the aluminum bleachers and sat down. Tyreese spotted Sasha in a small crowd of Woodburians and they took an empty spot on the top row.

"First, for all the citizens of Woodbury, I want to officially welcome you to our home," Rick said. "Just because it's a prison doesn't mean we're not friendly."

A polite chuckle rattled amongst the two groups, and Rick flashed a warm grin.

"I want everyone to know that Cell Blocks C and D are safe, but the other cell blocks aren't. We call the hallways to those cell blocks "the tombs", and we call the dead "walkers"." Don't worry, the doors are strong, and if you stay clear of those areas, you'll be all right.

"I know most of you must be thinking the bus ride and the hot breakfast was a scam. You must also be thinking that you've heard this speech before; that the last man who promised you safety ended up killing your friends and family members, but I'm not like him. You'll never have to call me "The Governor"; you all can call me Rick."

Rick stopped talking and let his words sink in. The Woodburians were nodding and murmuring amongst themselves. Rick looked around the yard and saw Michonne—wearing her hoodie jacket, and with her katana slung over her back— standing beside the cell block's doorway, wearing her hoodie jacket, listening to his speech.

"This prison is safe, but we need to rebuild, and we need your help to do it," Rick said as he resumed his speech. "But first, my friend Daryl is going out on a run, and we need some help with the walkers at the fences. Can anyone here shoot?"

"You bet your ass I can shoot," a loud voice answered.

The two groups looked down at a tall man in the bottom row wearing a matted Atlanta Braves cap. "My name's John Boyd," the man said as he stood up and tipped the lid of his cap. "I served two tours of duty in Vietnam. I volunteered; didn't wait for my draft number to come up! I volunteered for the Governor's security force, but he thought at my age, I wasn't even fit for sentry duty!"

The two groups chuckled, and John grinned and sat down on the aluminum bench. "Well, sir. We appreciate your help, and thank you for your service," Rick said.

John gave Rick a military salute and elbowed his wife Donna, a woman with auburn dyed hair. "Did you hear that?" he asked, "that's some gen-u-ine respect!"

Donna rolled her eyes and slapped her husband's arm, and he looked at her dumbfounded.

"Having an extra gun at the fences is good, but we might need another person to help distract the walkers," Rick said. "If anyone volunteers, you have my word you won't be risking your life and will be staying on our side of the fence."

"I'll do it," a gray haired black man with heavy rimmed glasses said. "My name's Floyd Townsend. I worked for the Post Office before the world shit the bed. I've dealt with stray dogs and winos my whole career; I figure those walkers can't be much worse."

Rick nodded. "All right, Floyd. I appreciate your help."

Rick glanced over at Carl, sitting on the group's aluminum bleachers; his son was staring intently at him, knowing that the speech was winding down and they'd soon be putting down the walkers along the fences. Hershel's description of Carl killing a teenage boy who was part of the Governor's army ran through Rick's head. He coughed and looked at the Woodburians sitting across from his group.

"While we're at the fences, another group will be in the tombs getting the guns that were left behind by the Governor's army. You all know the safe areas in the prison; make yourselves at home, because this is your home, too."

A few moments later Rick nodded. "All right, let's get to work."

The two groups stepped down from the aluminum bleachers and walked into their respective cell blocks. Carl walked over to his father and said, "Dad, I want to help you put down the walkers at the fences."

Rick shook his head. "No, Carl. We can manage it ourselves. Besides, we're only opening a path for Daryl to drive through."

Carl moved left and right, trying to contain the anger that was rising inside him. "You just said that you needed shooters. I can shoot. I can help."

Rick sighed and knelt down so he was at Carl's eye level. "I know you can help; I've seen you help me before, but you don't need to help me this time."

"Dad…"

Rick put a gentle hand on Carl's shoulder, silencing him. "Not this time, Carl. Now go inside and watch your sister."

Carl lowered his head. "Beth's watching Judith," he muttered.

"Well, why don't you watch her for a while?" Rick suggested with a pat to Carl's shoulder.

Carl nodded and without raising his head, stomped towards the cell block door, and walked past Michonne without acknowledging her presence.

"Is everything all right?" Michonne asked as she walked towards Rick.

"I hope so," Rick answered as he watched Carl disappear into the darkness of the cell block.

"You two will work it out," Michonne said, "It's just father and son shit taken to the extreme."

Rick smiled softly, realizing that Michone might be right, and wishing that Lori was still here to help smooth things out between him and Carl. Yeah," he nodded.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Michonne said, "Look, I thought I should…no, Daryl thought I should tell you that I'll be gone for a couple of days."

Rick stared at Michonne and nodded. "Going to search for the Governor, huh?"

Michonne nodded in return. "Yeah."

"Do you honestly expect to find him?"

"I'd rather be out there hunting him instead of sitting here waiting for him to knock on our front door."

Rick sighed but nodded in understanding. "Well, I've known you long enough to know that I can't talk you out of it, so be careful."

"Thanks. I should be gone for a few weeks. Wherever he ran off too, it can't be far from Woodbury."

"Just be careful," Rick ordered. "If anything happens out there, we won't be able to help you."

"Thanks," Michonne smiled as she turned around and headed for the cell block door, leaving Rick standing on the main exercise yard all alone.

•••

Carol, wearing her cargo jacket, leaned against the Ford Bronco truck parked on the courtyard, the group's Mossberg 500 shotgun by her side. The Bronco had been part of the

Governor's convoy during the attack on the prison, and had been left behind during his panicked retreat. The Bronco had been reinforced with an improvised cow catcher, so Rick thought it could help the group on supply runs; he and Daryl retrieved the Dodge while

Michonne and Glenn distracted the walkers that arrived at the prison after the Governor had fled.

Cell Block C's door slid open, and Carol smiled softly as Daryl walked across the courtyard, crossbow slung over his back, and a bundle of blankets and ropes tucked under his right arm. Daryl saw the Mossberg beside Carol and nodded his approval.

"The shotgun's a good idea," Daryl said as he opened the Bronco's tailgate and slid his bundle onto the truck bed, "You carryin' an equalizer?"

Carol moved her cargo jacket and revealed the walnut handle of a Colt Detective Special revolver tucked in her waistband. This time, Daryl grinned. "Smart lady."

Daryl unslung his crossbow, placed it beside the bundle, and closed the tailgate. He started to walk over to the driver's side of the Bronco, but Carol grabbed his arm. Daryl froze in his tracks and looked at Carol bewilderedly.

"What about you?" Carol asked.

Daryl nodded, moved his leather biker vest and denim jacket, and pulled from the small of his back a Colt Official Police revolver; it had once belonged to Dale, and Daryl now used it as a backup to his crossbow. "Don't leave home without it," he quipped.

Daryl climbed into the driver's seat, while Carol picked up the shotgun and climbed into the passenger seat. Daryl opened his revolver's cylinder to check that it was loaded, closed the cylinder back into the frame, and placed the revolver inside the door bucket. The key was placed in the ignition, turned, and the Bronco's engine grumbled to life. The walkers along the fence line raised their heads at the sound of the once commonplace noise.

"Come here," Daryl said.

Carol looked at Daryl, shocked.

Daryl grinned and pointed at Cell Block C. "We're pickin' up a hitchhiker."

Carol looked out the passenger window and saw Michonne—wearing her hooded cape and with her katana slung over her back— walking towards them. Michonne reached the passenger door and nodded at Carol, who slid the Mossberg 500 shotgun onto the truck bed, and blushing, moved over to share the driver's seat with Daryl.

"Cozy, huh?" Daryl quipped as he pressed his left side against the driver's side door.

"Stop," Carol grumbled as she sat on her half of the driver's seat with her complexion a bright red.

Michonne lifted her katana over her head, climbed inside the Bronco, and sat in the passenger seat.

Rick, Glenn, Maggie, and Sasha stepped out of Cell Block C, and headed towards the fence line; John and Floyd followed behind them. The walkers yellow eyes seemed to glow at

the sight of live bodies running towards them, and they grabbed hold of the chain link fence and shook it furiously.

Rick stopped a few yards from the fence line and drew his Colt Python revolver. He scanned the fence line and found the section from yesterday that they used to cut through so they could drive to Woodbury and finish off the Governor. Rick turned and waved at the Bronco; Daryl pressed his hand down on the horn.

HONK!

"Sasha, John, Floyd. That way!" Rick pointed. Sasha and the two men ran to the right of the fence line. Sasha was armed with a Beretta 92FS pistol, John was armed with a Colt 1911, Floyd had an aluminum baseball bat.

BLAM! BLAM!

Sasha and John fired their pistols. Walkers' heads exploded from the bullet's impact and they crumbled to the overgrown field. Floyd repeatedly struck the chain link fence with his aluminum bat and screamed at the top of his voice.

The other walkers along the fence line slowly moved towards the three live, loud bodies. Rick anxiously waited to see if his plan of distraction would be successful. A minute later, the section of fence that needed to be opened was clear.

"Come on!" Rick shouted to Glenn and Maggie.

Glenn took the bolt cutters and cut the chains they used to secure that section of fence back to the pole. Maggie grabbed the fencing and began to pull it back. Glenn dropped the bolt cutters, ran to Maggie's side, and helped to pull the fencing back faster. The steel scrapped loudly against the pavement.

Daryl put the Bronco in drive and slowly turned it towards the truck towards the makeshift opening.

Three walkers heard the commotion behind them, turned around and staggered towards the young couple. Rick stepped outside the fence line and took aim.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

The three bullets struck the walkers' foreheads, and they fell dead to the ground.

HONK! HONK! HONK!

A truck horn blasted and an engine roared. Rick looked to the right and saw the Ford Bronco speeding towards him. Rick leaped out of the way and the Bronco flew past and hit the ground with a thud.

"Shit!" Daryl shouted from his awkward position in the driver's seat as the Bronco bounced wildly downhill and kicked up clumps of dirt. Carol's left arm was draped over Daryl's shoulders and her fingers clenched onto his shirt, while Michonne hugged her scabbard and braced her feet against the foot well.

"Rick! Are you okay?!" Glenn shouted as he and Maggie ran to their fallen leader; they helped Rick to his feet, and the three of them watched as Daryl got the Bronco onto the gravel road.

"Watch it, you crazy bastard!" Rick shouted at the speeding truck. But Daryl didn't hear Rick's curse as he sped the Bronco past the prison's shattered gate and along the open road.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

Carl, his head still low and his hands tucked deep in his jacket pockets, walked through the hallway of Cell Block C. Hershel had warned him that dad would refuse his help against the walkers, and dad had proved Hershel right. Hot tears poured from the boy's eyes, and he wiped them away angrily. It seemed to Carl, the prison would be the Greene farm all over again.

Memories of the time spent on the Greene farm flashed through Carl's head: waking up in a soft bed with a gunshot wound stitched up on his chest. Mom and dad, exhausted and overjoyed sat at his bedside and lying about finding Sophia so he wouldn't get upset; the slow and painful process of recuperation, stealing a gun from dad's duffel bag; he and dad convincing mom to let Shane teach him to shoot.

Shane.

The hot tears refilled in Carl's eyes. He thought of the times at the Greene farm he went to Shane for help instead of dad. Or how he agreed with Shane that the young prisoner Randall should be executed instead of freed because the risk of him finding his group of scavengers was too great. Then he thought of the night Shane said Randall escaped. Dad immediately split the group up: one group hid in the farmhouse and the other group searched the forest for Randall.

Carl snuck out of the house and found dad trembling and standing over Shane's dead body. Dad finally noticed him and slowly walked towards him, saying he should be in the house with mom.

Then Carl saw Shane stand up and stumble towards dad.

Carl took the gun he stole from Daryl's saddlebags; the gun he tried to make Shane return, and he took aim and fired. The bullet hit Shane in the center of his forehead and he fell back to the ground to remain forever a corpse and a hated memory.

Minutes later the group fled as a herd of walkers swarmed the farm. They regrouped at the spot on the highway where they lost Sophia and continued on. Before setting camp for the night, Daryl and Glenn said they had tracked two sets of footprints and killed a walker that turned out to be Randall. A closer look of the body found that his neck had been snapped.

Shane freed Randall and killed him.

That's when dad confessed the secret Jenner had given him before they escaped the CDC: they all were infected.

That night in camp, dad flew a tantrum and revealed that Shane staged Randall's escape to lure him into the forest and kill him.

Carl cried for Shane. But soon he began wondering why Shane tried to kill dad. Then he thought about Shane and mom's behavior after they set camp outside Atlanta, or mom's sudden pregnancy.

The tears streamed down Carl's face, and a sob escaped from his lips. Suddenly he turned to the wall and struck it repeatedly with the heels of his fists. "I hate you, Shane!" Carl shouted. "I hate you!"

Exhausted, Carl fell against the wall and slid to the cold floor. In the dim light he strained to see his reddened hands and rubbed them to relieve the pain. He sniffed and wiped the tears and mucus from his face with his sleeve.

A sound began to drift along the hallway and Carl's ears perked up. He couldn't identify the sound, but it was melodious and up ahead. Carl stood up and began following the sound, which became clearer and stronger with each step. It was a song, coming from the common room. Soon, Carl reached the doorway, and peered inside.

Carl saw Beth pacing the floor and bouncing Judith in her arms while she sang. Carl stepped inside the common room and watched Beth, who was unaware of the boy.

 _May he turned 21 on the base at Fort Bliss_

" _Just a day" he said down to the flask in his fist,_

" _Ain't been sober, since maybe October of last year."_

 _Here in town you can tell he's been down for a while,_

 _But, my God, it's so beautiful when the boy smiles,_

 _Wanna hold him. Maybe I'll just sing about it._

' _Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable,_

 _And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table._

 _No one can find the rewind button, boys,_

 _So cradle your head in your hands,_

 _And breathe…just breathe._

 _Oh, breathe, just breathe._

Beth turned to walk her imaginary line across the room when she saw Carl standing a few feet away. Beth's eyes went wide and her jaw dropped.

Carl smiled and waved. "Uh…hello," he blushed.

"Oh, Carl!" Beth cried as she held Judith closer while stepping from side to side. "You scared the heck out of me! The way you were standing still, I thought you were a walker!"

"I'm sorry!" Carl shouted, Stetson in hand. "I should've said something earlier, but you were singing that old song, so I thought that I should—"

Beth froze and looked at Carl like he was a fool. "You think "Breathe" is an old song?"

"Yes! I mean no!" Carl explained excitedly. "I mean you sang it good! But, you always sing good! No! I mean it's a nice song!"

Beth giggled and looked at Judith. "Did you hear that, Judith? Your big brother thinks I sing good."

Carl, embarrassed, wiped his hands down his face and moved towards the doorway. "I better go," he muttered.

"Don't go, Carl," Beth smiled as she moved towards one of the round tables. "I was only teasing. Sit down. Let's talk."

Carl put the Stetson back on his head and walked over to the table. Before Carl sat down, Judith started cooing in Beth's arms, making them both smile. He thought about what dad said earlier about giving Beth a break with Judith, and suddenly that annoying order seemed like a wonderful idea.

"Can I hold her?" Carl asked hopefully.

"Sure," Beth said. She stood up and carefully placed the baby in Carl's arms. Carl smiled, bounced his sister in his arms a few times and sat across from Beth.

"It looks like you'll enjoy being a big brother," Beth said with a hand propped under her chin.

"Thanks," Carl replied, while still looking at Judith. "I just wish my mom were still with us."

"I know how you feel," Beth said sadly. "I miss my mom, too. I also miss Shawn. He was a great big brother; you'd of liked him."

Carl looked at Beth and chewed his lower lip. He had to ask her something, but he didn't know how she'd react. "Do you miss Jimmy?"

Beth lowered her eyes and sat still. "Not really," she admitted. "We only dated three months, and we didn't have anything in common besides farm life."

"Then why were you with him?" Carl asked incredulously. "A girl like you can get any guy she wants!"

Beth looked up at Carl, her eyes wide again. Carl blushed and fidgeted in his chair as he bounced Judith in his arms.

"I used to sing in the school chorus," Beth said after an awkward silence. "But I was never popular. Maybe it was because I was too shy or a good student. Yeah, there were a few boys who asked me out, but all they really wanted was to, you know, hook up."

"You mean have sex," Carl said plainly.

Beth blushed and sunk in her chair. "Yeah, that's exactly what I mean."

"So what happened?" Carl asked.

Beth sighed. "All my friends were hooking up with boys and asking me these dumb questions, like if I was a nun or a lesbian. Jimmy was in my science class. He was quiet, nice,

good looking, so I asked him out. When I did that, he started sweating and stuttering. I thought he was going to have a heart attack."

"How did it go with him?"

"Safe," Beth answered. "Jimmy took me out to dinners at the café, and to the movies. I helped him with his homework. We always studied at my house because it was closer to school, and it was quiet with my family working in the fields. A month into our relationship, Jimmy starts begging me for sex; said everyone else is doing it, so why aren't we?" Beth chuckled at the memory.

Carl's face went blank and his eyes widened. "So…uh, did you and him ever, you know…do it?"

Beth waved a hand and laughed harder. "No! Oh, my God, no! But my dad probably thinks we did. He used to chase us all over the farm, but it was really Jimmy following me everywhere, begging me to at least give him a—"

Beth stopped and looked at Carl, ashen faced and staring at her with his baby sister in his arms. "Uh, no. We didn't do it; any of it."

Carl smiled and relaxed in his chair. "That's good. Don't ever let other people make you do something that you know is wrong. That's what my dad taught me."

Beth smiled in return. "Yeah, my dad says things like that all the time. Find strength in your Faith. Learn from your mistakes." She looked at the scar on her wrist and rubbed it as if it were a rash. "I guess I'm still learning, huh?"

Carl looked at the scar on Beth's wrist and frowned. "Did it hurt, you know, when you tried to kill yourself?"

"I don't remember cutting myself," Beth answered. "I guess I was too upset over mom and Shawn really being dead to feel any pain. I wanted to be with them again. But somehow, I couldn't drive that shard deep enough. I guess despite all I said to Maggie about killing myself, and as much as I wanted to be with mom and Shawn, I still wanted to live."

Carl smiled. "I'm glad you feel that way. I'm sure your dad and Maggie feel the same way. We would've missed you."

An automobile engine started outside, but Carl and Beth didn't pay it any attention. She smiled and reached for Carl, who nervously leaned back until he risked falling off the chair. Beth poked his chest a few times. "What about you? What's it like getting shot?"

Carl laughed nervously. "Getting shot? It felt like a car hit me in the stomach! I don't remember any pain though. But those first days back on my feet after the operation, they really hurt."

Beth nodded. "Maybe it's a blessing we both can't remember the pain. We get too much of that every day."

Carl nodded. A car horn blasted outside. He and Beth shook with surprise.

"What's going on?" Beth asked nervously.

"Don't worry. It's probably just Daryl in one of the trucks," Carl said. "Dad said he was going out on a run."

A moment later gunfire burst outside. Carl and Beth looked up at the ceiling, as they tried to picture what was happening on the courtyard. Beth looked at Carl and noticed the frown on his face. "What's wrong, Carl?"

Carl shook his head. "I volunteered to help my dad put down the walkers along the fences, and he said no."

Beth blinked. "So he didn't need your help, so what?"

"I volunteered!" Carl argued. "But he said 'No, Carl, we can manage it ourselves'. What are we talking about here, Christmas decorations?! We're supposed to help out. Maggie's going to help Glenn get the guns out of the tombs, why can't I help—"

Beth slammed her hands on the table and leaned forward. "Wait a minute, Maggie's _really_ going back into the tombs?"

Carl leapt in his seat, startled by Beth's display of emotion. "Yeah, but you knew that. I saw you with Maggie and Glenn this morning."

Beth wrung her hands together and trembled. "I thought Glenn would talk her out of it!"

Carl reached for Beth's hand in an effort to calm her, but Judith began to cry. He stood up, held his baby sister closer, and went to Beth's side. "Relax, Beth. Maggie's a smart girl and she's tough, too! She'll be back before you know—"

Beth stood up and walked past Carl. "I've got to stop her!" She shouted and her speed increased with every step. Carl watched remorsefully as she ran out of the communal room and Judith continued to cry in his arms.

•••

Rick made his third sweep of the fence line and he was still fuming over almost getting run over by Daryl. He and the group had killed twelve walkers, and the locks that held the detachable section of the fence to the pole were secure. John and Floyd had gone back into Cell Block C the minute Glenn announced they had locked the fence; he and Maggie waited until Rick finished his first sweep—and for him to calm down enough—until they asked if they could go inside and prepare for their mission in the tombs. Sasha stood at a respectable

distance, alternating between watching Rick and watching the walkers growling along the other side of the fence.

"Rick," Sasha said meekly, "the fences are secure; at least until Dar…I mean, until they come back."

Rick stopped walking, wiped the sweat from his brow, lowered his head and breathed deeply.

"Go inside and check on your kids. I'll stand guard out here."

After a minute of catching his breath, Rick nodded and looked at Sasha. "Thanks," he said.

•••

"Carl?" Rick asked while standing on the steps leading to the common room.

Rick found his son sitting at one of the round tables, with Judith sleeping in his arms. Carl was watching his baby sister with a sad expression on his face. Rick knew Carl was thinking about Lori and his heart sank; he was trying to think of something to say that would comfort his son when he heard the familiar sounds of crutch tips and a single footstep scrapping along the floor.

"Rick, are you there?" Hershel asked.

Rick looked over at the doorway leading to the cell block, and watched as Hershel hobbled into the common room. When the old veterinarian saw the group's leader he smiled warmly.

"Good morning, Hershel. How did you sleep?" Rick asked as he descended the staircase.

"I slept well, maybe too well," Hershel admitted. "I ate breakfast and fell asleep again. I rarely behave so lazily."

"Don't beat yourself up over it," Rick said as he patted Hershel's shoulder, "you've done more for this group than I have the right to ask."

"The same goes for you, Rick," Hershel said as he sat down in a chair and leaned his crutches against the chair to his left. "So did anything happen while I was asleep?"

"Daryl's gone out on a run; Carol and Michonne went with him."

"What about Maggie and Glenn?"

"Maggie and Glenn helped me clear a path for Daryl."

Hershel's eyes widened. "Are they all right?"

Rick nodded and absentmindedly brushed some dirt off his jacket. "Everyone's fine."

Hershel smiled and sighed with relief. "Thank you, Lord."

Rick, while never overly religious, nodded out of respect for Hershel.

"So what else do you have planned for today, Rick?" Hershel asked.

"Well, I've checked the courtyard's fences, and they're no weak spots. We've killed twelve walkers, but that's barely a dent in their numbers. We'll have to get more firepower to put them all down."

Hershel considered the information and nodded. "And where do you propose we get that firepower?"

Rick looked down at the round table for a moment and then looked Hershel in the eyes. "From the guns the Governor's army dropped in the tombs. Glenn's getting ready to lead a group in there right now. Hershel, Maggie's going with them."

Hershel placed a hand underneath his white beard, and looked deep in thought. After a few moments he nodded and sat up straight. "My little girl knows what she's doing. She'll be all right."

Rick, surprised, rubbed his hands. "Nothing personal, Hershel, but that's not the reaction I was expecting."

"I understand, Rick. But Maggie's a grown woman, and she has the right to make her own decisions. Besides, if we're going to live in this world—the way the world is now—all of us need to contribute; and as old fashioned as I am, I didn't raise my two daughters to wear an apron."

Rick smiled softly at Hershel's explanation. For all of Rick's life, he'd never known an individual like Hershel. His knowledge, courage, counsel, and even his Faith, had been invaluable to the group.

"Okay, so once we take back the field, we'll need to replace the gate and the towers. I never took inventory on the prison's trade shop, but if it has the tools and materials, we could come up with suitable replacements."

"I think Tyreese can help with that," Hershel said, "he told me that he worked construction after his football career ended."

"That sounds good. Now, what's left in the pantry?"

Hershel shook his head. "Not nearly enough, especially as we've doubled the mouths we'll have to feed."

Rick sighed wearily. "We have to find some food."

"Where can we look that hasn't already been picked clean?" Hershel asked.

"Well find someplace that hasn't. We have to," Rick answered.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

Daryl kept alternating between watching the Bronco's speedometer and watching the road. The Bronco hadn't stopped rattling since their wild downhill drive from the prison's courtyard; making it certain the truck's suspension was damage. Daryl kept the speed at a modest twenty miles per hour; it was slow going, but it kept the Bronco in one piece.

On the road, they drove past the occasional abandoned car or hideous car wreck; sometimes walkers appeared, their arms outstretched in an attempt to grab hold of the Bronco, but Daryl easily avoided them and the walkers would watch as he gained distance, and they'd continue to shuffle on their way.

When Daryl hit a stretch of clear road he looked at his two companions in the close quarters of the truck: Carol sat on her side of the driver's seat, with her Colt Detective Special in her hand, and she was watching both sides of the road, looking for any sign of a potential ambush. Michonne sat in the passenger seat and she was staring straight ahead; Daryl wondered if she had blinked since he got the Bronco on the road.

Daryl glanced at the speedometer and saw its needle had moved to twenty-five. He huffed angrily and eased his foot off the gas pedal. The Bronco continued to rattle but it slowed back to twenty, and Daryl sighed with relief. _Keep your damn eyes on the road,_ Daryl scolded himself as the Bronco continued to rattle along to the feed mill.

•••

"Stop the truck," Michonne ordered.

Daryl and Carol both looked at Michonne, who hadn't said a word the whole ride, and they looked at each other. Daryl shrugged, gently stepped on the brake, and the Bronco slowly rattled to a stop. Daryl put the truck in park, but kept the engine running.

Daryl picked up his Colt Official Police revolver out of the door bucket, opened the door, climbed out of the Bronco, and cautiously surveyed their surroundings. Carol reached into the truck bed, picked up the Mossberg 500 shotgun, followed Daryl out the driver's side, thumbed the safety off and took aim. Michonne opened the passenger door and climbed out with her sheathed katana in hand. Satisfied the coast was clear, Daryl and Carol lowered their weapons and walked over to Michonne, who was glaring at road sign posted at a right turn. The sign read: WOODBURY. THREE MILES.

"You're going after the Governor, aren't you?" Carol asked Michonne.

Michonne continued to stare at the road sign leading the way to Woodbury, but her silence answered for her.

"Tyreese and Sasha said he didn't go back to Woodbury," Carol gently reminded Michonne.

"There're reasons for him to go back there: food, shelter, guns; and if he starts taking in survivors again, he'll hit us with a new army."

"You can still come with us," Daryl offered to Michonne as he watched the trees and underbrush around them for a walker or a Woodbury gunman. "If you think the Governor is waitin' for the right moment to attack, one more day won't matter."

Michonne looked down the long, distant road that led to Woodbury. "No. I have to end this; one way or another."

Carol looked worriedly at Daryl, who glanced at her and went back to watching their surroundings. The former housewife looked back at Michonne. "Do you have a gun?" she asked.

Michonne looked at Carol and nodded; she moved her hooded cape, reached behind her back and produced her Glock 19 pistol. "I try not to depend too much on guns, but I know they're important. Ever since this…madness started, I've seen too many people, good and bad, use guns. The guns made them overconfident, made them think they were invincible; they weren't."

Michonne tucked the pistol behind her back and looked at Daryl. "Thanks for the ride," she said.

"Vaya con Dios," Daryl replied.

Michonne nodded, covered her head with her cloak's hood, and began walking down the road to Woodbury. Daryl stood by Carol's side and watched as their new friend faded into the distanced. Daryl tapped Carol on her shoulder, she looked at him and he nodded towards the idle Bronco. Carol thumbed the shotgun's safety on, and she and Daryl climbed into the idle Bronco. Daryl put the truck in drive, and they continued on to the feed mill.

•••

"Son of a bitch," Daryl muttered.

Carol looked ahead as Daryl drove the rattling Broncho onto the feed mill's gravel parking lot and saw dozens of walkers. They had heard the damaged truck coming, and were shuffling towards it. Daryl turned right onto the clearing and began circling the feed mill as the walkers growled and swatted at the Bronco with every turn.

"There must be twenty of 'em," Daryl said.

"How do you want to handle this?" Carol asked.

Daryl stopped the truck alongside the feed mill, picked the Colt Official Police revolver out of the door bucket, and looked at Carol. "Wait 'til I empty all six rounds, then you let into 'em with the shotgun. We'll keep goin' until we've put them all down."

Carol nodded, and she and Daryl climbed out of the Bronco and took a few steps away from it to face the slowly approaching group of walkers. Daryl aimed his revolver at the closest one, a tall walker with long, dirty hair, and pulled the trigger.

BLAM!

The .38 special bullet struck the lead walker in the forehead, and it fell dead onto the field.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

Daryl repeated the process five more times, and five more walkers became dead permanently. Daryl pushed the revolver's cylinder release, ejected the six empty cases, and looked over his shoulder at Carol. "Light 'em up!" he shouted.

Carol thumbed the safety off the Mossberg 500, and aimed at a walker wearing a torn U.S. Marine Corps T-shirt.

BKOOM!

The 12 gauge slug struck the Marine walker's head and it burst into a half-dozen pieces. The Marine walker collapsed onto the field like the walker Daryl had killed moments before.

KA-CHOOK!

Carol wracked a shell into the shotgun's chamber and took aim at the walkers.

BKOOM! BKOOM! BKOOM! BKOOM! BKOOM! BKOOM!

Carol fired six more blasts with the shotgun and each blast killed a walker. "I'm out!" Carol shouted.

Daryl reached into one of his leather biker vest's pockets and pulled out a speed strip. He pressed the six rounds into the six empty chambers, and closed the cylinder back into the revolver's frame. He looked straight ahead and saw the seven remaining walkers were getting too close for comfort.

A female walker with a bite mark on its left arm growled angrily as it reached out to grab Daryl, who took aim with his revolver.

BLAM!

The bullet hit the right between its yellow eyes, but its six remaining comrades growled angrily and spread out to encircle Daryl and Carol.

"Go back! I'll cover you!" Daryl shouted to Carol.

Carol nodded, ran to the Bronco and climbed inside; she crawled across the driver and passenger seats, and fell outside onto the ground and crawled a short distance away from the truck.

Daryl glanced over his shoulder to see that Carol was safe and then he moved back until he bumped into the Bronco's doorframe. He fired a shot that put down a teenage male walker, and climbed into the Bronco, and shut the driver's side door. The five remaining walkers growled angrily and clawed at the door's windows with their bloody, sharp fingernails. Daryl scurried over the passenger seat; fell outside onto the ground like Carol had done earlier.

"Daryl!" Carol shouted worriedly.

Daryl looked up, and saw Carol sitting up on the ground, just a few feet away, reloading her shotgun. "I'm good!" he answered as he crawled towards her.

A male walker in a bloodstained business suit and a loose tie shuffled past the front of the Bronco, while a female walker with long, dirty blonde hair and a tattered dress, shuffled past the rear. Daryl stood up, aimed his revolver at the businessman walker and fired. The female walker growled at Daryl and Carol, but the redneck swung his revolver to the left and fired.

A second female walker—this one a Goth girl with piercings on its face and ears—opened the driver's door and began to crawl over the seats. Carol saw it, and racked a shell into the shotgun's chamber.

KA-CHOOK!

BLAM!

The blast from the shotgun struck the Goth girl walker's head and splashed the truck's interior with dark blood and brain matter.

The last walker—which was the most decomposed—struggled to climb atop the Bronco's hood. Daryl shook his head in disgust, and waited until the walker stood at its full height. Daryl took aim with his revolver and pulled the trigger. The impact of the bullet against the decomposing walker's head threw it off the hood and it landed on the ground, spread eagle.

The echoes of gunfire faded off into the distance. Daryl pushed the revolver's cylinder release, and ejected the three spent casings. Then he reached into his leather biker vest's pocket, pulled out another speed strip, pressed three fresh bullets into the 3 empty cylinders, and closed the cylinder into the revolver's frame. Carol stood up and racked the shotgun's spent shell.

KA-CHOOK!

"Are you okay?" Carol asked as she looked up at Daryl.

Daryl glanced at Carol. "Gotta be," he answered while tucking the revolver against the small of his back.

Daryl walked over to the rear of the Bronco, opened the tailgate, and took out the bundle of blankets and ropes.

•••

"I'm sorry, Daryl," Carol said.

Daryl didn't respond.

They both were looking down at the dead walker that was once Merle Dixon. He was lying on his back, two fingers from his left hand were bitten off, and numerous stab wounds from Daryl's Busse Team Gemini knife were on his face and forehead.

Daryl sniffled and wiped a hand across his eyes. He untied the ropes to the bundle and spread out the two blankets beside Merle. Daryl stepped over Merle's body, knelt down, and grabbed hold of his dead brother's shirt, and raised him to a sitting position.

Carol put her shotgun down, and reached for Merle's legs.

"No," Daryl said sharply, "you wanted to watch my back, so watch my back."

Carol nodded, picked up the shotgun, and took a step back.

Daryl moved his hands underneath Merle's arms, and with great effort, he lifted Merle's heavy upper body and lowered it onto the first blanket. Daryl sat down, took a few breaths, and cursed when he saw Merle's legs had bunched up the lower half of the blanket, so he stepped over Merle's body again, lifted his brother's feet, and smoothed out the blanket. Daryl stood up, picked up the last blanket, and draped it over Merle. Daryl looked down again at Merle's covered body, wiped his hands clean on his jeans, and he suddenly started to weep.

Carol, standing nearby, switched the shotgun to her left hand, walked over to Daryl, and put her touched his left arm. Daryl wiped his tears away, and turned towards Carol. They looked at each other for a few moments, and Carol wrapped her right arm around Daryl's waist, and pulled him towards her for a hug; Daryl wrapped his arms around Carol's waist and rested his forehead on her shoulder as his body was wracked with a new outpouring of tears.

•••

Daryl knelt on the ground again, with Merle's covered upper body in his lap. He slipped one of the ropes around Merle's head and tied a secure knot. Carol glanced at Daryl's work and resumed standing guard.

"Thanks for the help," Daryl said, as he slipped a second rope around Merle's shoulders and began to tie a knot.

Carol turned around and smiled softly. "You're welcome."

"Just promise me you won't tell everybody I was cryin'. I've got a reputation to uphold."

Carol giggled. "Deal."

Daryl continued to slip and tie ropes across Merle's body until the two bedsheets that covered his brother were secured. He rubbed his hands together, slipped them underneath Merle's body, took a deep breath, and picked up his brother's body. Daryl grimaced as he adjusted Merle's heavy body in his arms, and a moment later, began walking towards the idle Bronco. Carol looked behind them, and seeing it was clear, followed Daryl to the truck.

Daryl tried to carefully place Merle's body onto the tailgate, but it hit with a thud. "Shit," Daryl cursed tiredly as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He then climbed into the truck bed, crawled to the middle, grabbed two of the ropes, and pulled Merle inside. When his task was finished, Daryl crawled out and sat down on the tailgate.

"Well done," Carol said congratulatory.

Daryl, still panting, looked at Carol, and nodded his appreciation. "Yeah…well…let's get the hell out of here, huh?"

Carol nodded in agreement.

Daryl slid off the tail gate and walked to the Bronco's open driver's side door, where he stopped in his tracks. "Son of a bitch," he muttered.

Carol peeked over Daryl's shoulder and her left hand covered her mouth. They both saw the gruesome result of a 12 gauge shell fired into a human skull. Daryl unsheathed his Busse hunting knife, scrapped off a piece of skull and hair from the windshield, examined it, and shook it off his knife. "No way we're goin' back to the prison in this biohazard on wheels," he said.

Carol glanced up at the field mill. "I'll look in there for some water and towels."

Daryl nodded in agreement with Carol's decision as he grabbed the Goth girl's black dress and pulled the dead walker out of the Bronco. Carol tightened her grip on the shotgun and walked cautiously into the feed mill.

Daryl continued to scrap pieces of brain matter and skull off the Bronco's interior, until frustration got the better of him, and he stomped towards the rear of the Bronco. He took the red rag out of his back pocket, wiped his knife clean, and placed it back in its sheath as he looked sadly at Merle's covered body lying on the truck bed.

"Don't move, gringo!" a young, angry voice ordered.

Daryl's eyes widened in surprise, and he tightened his grip on the handle of his hunting knife; he stood still as a statue.

•••

Inside the feed mill, Carol heard a young voice order Daryl to not move. She hid behind a door, slipped her index finger around the shotgun's trigger, and waited to hear what would happen next.

•••

"Get your hands up! Turn around!" the young voice ordered.

Daryl huffed angrily, raised his hands into the air, and turned around slowly. He saw a Latino teenager pointing an M16A2 assault rifle at him. The teen was wearing a varsity jacket and a Los Angeles Lakers cap, with the factory sticker still on it.

"Hola," Daryl grinned.

"Shut the fuck up!" the teen ordered.

Daryl shut his mouth and hoped Carol heard what was happening and got the drop on this punk.

The teen looked back at the woods and waved. Two car engines rumbled, and two Jeep Cherokees playing Latin hip-hop music drove out of the woods and stopped behind him. The doors opened and a gang of seven Latinos climbed out. Most of them were armed with Norinco Type 56 assault rifles or M16A2 assault rifles; one had a submachine gun, another had a two-tone Glock 19 pistol in his waistband, and the last one, a young man with slick backed hair, wore ray ban sunglasses, a silk business jacket over a mesh t-shirt, and had no visible weapons. The last one was also the leader, and he walked past the teen and grinned as he sized up Daryl. Two other gang members also walked passed the teen and stood on either side of their leader. The one to the right was bald, muscular, wore a black tank top, and had a tribal tattoo that ran the length of his right arm. His weapon was a Heckler & Koch MP5A2 submachine gun; with a spare magazine tapped to the one in the receiver. The one to the left had long, black hair, a goatee, wore a flannel shirt, and carried a Norinco Type 56 assault rifle.

"Shall we kill this piece of shit, Mateo?" the tattooed one asked.

Mateo, still grinning, shook his head. "No, Luis. Not yet."

Daryl immediately regretted letting Carol talk him into letting her come along on his personal errand. He prayed Carol stayed inside the feed mill and didn't step outside no matter what happened to him.

Mateo glanced at the dead walkers strewn about the field and the seven lying about the idle Bronco. "You were bustin' a shitload of caps, man. Why? You here for some Quaker Oats?"

Daryl looked at Mateo. "No. I'm here for my brother. He was killed. I'm takin' him home."

"Home?" Mateo grinned. "Can we come with you?"

Daryl shrugged. "You want to go to a trailer park?"

Mateo laughed; his gang laughed, too.

Daryl studied his opposition: Luis and the one with the goatee were definitely the most dangerous, but the teen and the other four gang members were lightweights. Daryl thought if he could somehow get his hands on Mateo, he and Carol could use him as a shield and get in the Bronco and escape.

"Joaquin, search this white boy," Mateo ordered.

Joaquin walked over to Daryl and struck him in the stomach with the buttstock of his Type 56. Daryl fell to his knees, coughing for air, and Joaquin slung the rifle over his shoulder, lifted Daryl's biker vest, and took the Official Police Revolver. Joaquin then grabbed Daryl by the shirt collar, and pulled his to his feet, where he bumped into the tailgate of the Bronco. Daryl swatted Joaquin's hand away and glared at him; Joaquin glared back.

"Now, before you take us to your home, I want to meet your amigo," Mateo said.

Daryl went pale and looked at Mateo. "I'm alone."

Mateo grinned at Daryl and began walking the field and looked at the dead walkers in the field and around the idle Bronco. "You're tellin' me you killed all these geeks by yourself? The world goes to shit and this white boy becomes Rambo."

The gang laughed again.

Mateo nodded at Joaquin, who stuck the barrel of the Colt Official Police under Daryl's jaw. "Where's your amigo?" Joaquin growled. "Is it a chica? I hope it's a chica."

"Get away from him!" Carol shouted.

•••

Everyone looked towards the feed mill and saw Carol walking out with her shotgun aimed at Mateo. Beads of sweat formed on Daryl's forehead and his heart started pounding inside his chest.

Joaquin pulled the revolver away from Daryl's chin, stuck it in his waistband, and unslung his Type 56 rifle. The rest of the gang aimed their weapons at Carol. Mateo grinned at Carol as he walked alongside the Bronco, then he stopped, and gestured for his gang to lower their weapons; they followed his orders.

"Hey, Señora! Did you think I'd hurt your lover? I was just kiddin' around!"

The gang laughed amongst themselves. Joaquin and Luis watched silently, Daryl lowered his head slightly and saw the handle of his Colt Official Police revolver sticking out of Joaquin's waistband. Carol stopped a few feet away from Mateo, the shotgun aimed at his chest.

"Por favor, put that gun down before you hurt yourself," Mateo grinned.

Mateo and his gang watched Carol. Carol watched the gang. Daryl started to slowly move his right hand towards his stolen revolver.

Carol lowered the shotgun, and then with all her might, threw it at Mateo. The shotgun struck the gang leader in the face, shattering his nose and his ray ban sunglasses. Mateo covered his face with his hands and shouted in pain as blood leaked in-between his fingers and he stumbled backwards towards the idle Bronco. His gang doubled over with boisterous laughter.

Carol pulled opened her cargo jacket, drew her Colt Detective Special revolver, and took aim.

"You bitch!" Mateo shouted as he reached into his back pocket and snapped open a switchblade, "now I'm gonna—"

Mateo's dark eyes widened as he saw Carol was pointing a gun at him.

BLAM!

The bullet hit Mateo in the center of his chest, and he fell dead to the ground opposite the decomposing walker Daryl had shot off the Bronco's hood earlier.

The gang stopped laughing and looked with shock at Carol.

Daryl pulled his revolver out of Joaquin's waistband, and with his left hand, grabbed the gang lieutenant's shirt collar. Joaquin dropped his Type 56 and tried to break free, but Daryl wrapped his arm around Joaquin's throat and used him as a human shield.

Carol swung her revolver at the gang members, took quick aim, and fired. The bullet hit one gang member in the head and he fell to the ground, dead.

The teen who got the drop on Daryl realized he had done the same to Joaquin; he

aimed his M16A2 at the redneck, ignoring the fact that that Mateo's lieutenant was now a human shield.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Joaquin screamed, waving his arms wildly.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

Joaquin screamed as the bullets tore into his chest and stomach. Daryl aimed his revolver at the teen and fired. The bullet hit the teen in the stomach and he dropped his rifle as he fell to the ground.

The shocked gang members didn't know whether to shoot at Carol or at Daryl. One of them decided to aim his M16A2 at Daryl, but the redneck already had a bead on him.

BLAM!

The bullet hit the gangbanger in the chest, and as he fell backwards, he fired his rifle into the air, which made his surviving gang members fall to the ground for cover. Carol ran forward and crouched down beside the right front tire as she waited for a clear shot. Daryl, still holding on to Joaquin's dead body, began to crawl inside the truck bed.

Luis and the two uninjured gang members recovered from their shock and began firing at the idle Bronco. Their bullets further chewed up Joachim's body, along with the rear frame of the Bronco. Daryl let go of the dead enforcer and crawled deeper inside the truck bed, and was lying alongside Merle's covered body.

Luis put his hand on a gang member's shoulder and pushed him towards the passenger side of the Bronco. "Go! Flank that bitch!" he shouted in Spanish, "chop her to bits!"

The gang member nodded and started running towards the idle Bronco, firing his Type 56 over its roof. Carol dropped to her knees as the bullets flew overhead.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

Inside the idle Bronco, Daryl aimed his revolver at the gang member as he ran alongside the truck bed's windows.

BLAM! BLAM!

The two bullets from Daryl's revolver hit the gang member in the chest and as he spun around he fired a wild spray of bullets that made Luis and the other gang member duck, and hit the windshield of one of their Jeep Cherokees.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

"Puerco!" Luis shouted as he stood up, walked along the passenger side of the Bronco and sprayed it with his MP5A2.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

The 9mm bullets shattered the truck bed windows, and shards of glass pelted Daryl like hail as he blindly fired his last two shots out the window in Luis' direction, and when Daryl realized the revolver's hammer was clicking on spent cases, he dropped the gun, grabbed the ropes around Merle's covered body, and pulled his brother's body onto his side as a shield as Mateo's enforcer raked the side of the Bronco with his submachine gun.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

Daryl shut his eyes as the 9mm bullets tore into Merle's back, but Daryl was unscathed. Pieces of bedding floated in the air inside the truck bed, and landed on Daryl, who prayed that he and Carol would make it out of this gunfight alive.

Carol kept her back pressed against the Bronco, and began to cautiously move to the rear, her Colt Detective Special in hand. She knew if she stayed in one spot in the middle of a gunfight, she was good as dead. As she sat beside the open driver's side door, she saw the Mossberg 500 shotgun lying alongside Mateo's feet. If she could retrieve it, the extra firepower could help her and Daryl win this gunfight. Carol took a breath and cautiously crawled forward towards the shotgun.

The other surviving gang member ran to the rear of the Bronco, and peeked over the driver's side to see the open driver's side door, and Carol, crawling towards a shotgun that was lying near Mateo's body. The gang member grinned and leapt out as he fired his two-tone Glock 19 pistol wildly.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

Carol screamed and leapt back against the Bronco as the 9mm bullets kicked up the ground in front of her, and a moment later the bullets tore into the open driver's side door. The door's window shattered and Carol closed her eyes and covered her face with her arms as shards of glass pelted her head. Suddenly the firing stopped. Carol lowered her arms, guessed the gang member was reloading his pistol, and she slammed the driver's door closed and fired at the figure standing alongside the rear of the Bronco.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

The three shots hit the gang member in his stomach and chest; he dropped his pistol and fell onto his left side, dead.

On the Bronco's passenger side, Luis saw his last gang member get shot. He growled angrily, stuck his MP5A2 into the truck's interior, and fired at the closed driver's door.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

The 9mm bullets destroyed what remained of the door's armrest, bucket, and handle. Outside, beside the bullet-riddled door, Carol lay on her side and curled into a ball while covering her head with her arms again.

Click. Click.

Luis' ran the submachine gun dry and believing he had just killed Daryl, put his back against the Bronco, as he prepared to deal with Carol. He ejected the spent magazine and loaded the fresh one tapped beside it. Inside the truck bed, Daryl slowly reached for the Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow lying to his right, and quietly put the weapon onto his chest.

When the shooting stopped, Carol sat up, slipped her Colt Detective Special into one of her raincoat's pockets, and crawled quickly to the Mossberg 500 shotgun; she grabbed the weapon, crawled back to the Bronco, and waited for the moment to shoot.

"You're dead, bitch!" Luis shouted as he worked the cocking lever to load a bullet into the submachine gun's chamber. "You're gonna burn in hell with your boy!"

Carol looked underneath the Bronco and saw Luis' feet. She dropped down onto her stomach and took quick aim.

BKOOM!

Luis' left ankle exploded and he fell onto his backside. The gang enforcer screamed in agonizing pain as he reached up for the truck bed window and pulled himself up onto his right leg. Unknowingly, he had pulled himself up to Daryl's line of sight. The redneck thumbed the safety off his crossbow, and took aim at Luis' bald skull.

KA-CHOOK!

Carol racked a new shell into the shotgun's chamber and began to crawl slowly towards the front of the idle Bronco. She saw the dead businessman walker Daryl had shot earlier, and made sure it had a bullet wound to the head before she kept moving around the truck.

"I'm gonna kill you, bitch!" Louis shouted as he tried to keep his balance. "I'm gonna shoot your damn legs off! I'm gonna—"

THUNK!

The crossbow's arrow shot through the back of Luis' head and stuck out of his forehead, the shaft was covered in blood and chunks of brain matter. The gang enforcer dropped his submachine gun, and took a step on his right leg, but when he used his wounded leg, fell face first to the ground. Luis started to crawl away, but then he started twitching; a minute later he stopped doing anything.

Daryl peered out the shattered window to watch Luis's slowly death, and then he brushed the shards of glass out of his hair. "Carol!" he called out.

Carol, now at the front of the Bronco, froze in her tracks. "Daryl?" she called out.

"Yeah! You good?" he asked worriedly.

Carol sighed with relief. "Yeah," she smiled.

Daryl grabbed his crossbow and revolver, and slid out of the truck bed. He was brushing off shards of glass and pieces of bedding when he saw Carol, standing at the front of the idle Bronco, with her shotgun in hand, and the shards of glass in her gray hair sparking in the sunlight. Carol smiled, and Daryl smiled back.

Daryl heard a rustling behind him and he turned to see the wounded teen gang member trying to run from the scene. The teen had just run past the two Jeep Cherokees when he fell, got up, staggered few more feet, and fell again.

Daryl stuck his empty revolver against the small of his back, and slung his crossbow over his back; he picked up Joaquim's Type 56 assault rifle, and followed the wounded teen.

"Daryl!" Carol called out.

"Stay there!" Daryl ordered without looking back.

When Daryl reached the wounded teen, he was trying to crawl away. The kid felt that Daryl was behind him, so he stopped, and rolled onto his back, revealing the bloody bullet wound in his stomach.

Daryl aimed the Type 56 at the wounded teen.

"Please!" the teen cried as he lifted up a hand. "Don't kill me, man! I wasn't…I wasn't gonna hurt you. I'm not…like…those guys!"

Daryl looked down the rifle's iron sights.

The teen sat up and gingerly touched his bullet wound. He cried harder and looked up at Daryl. "Look at me, man. I'm messed up! Help me, please. Just…give me…a chance. Help me. I swear to God I'm not like them!"

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

The teen fell back to the ground as the bullets slammed into his chest. Daryl looked down at the mess that was the teen's body, and dropped the rifle to the ground.

Carol dropped her shotgun and covered her mouth with her hands. Daryl turned around and walked back to Carol; they both were panting heavily and trembling as they checked each other for wounds and realized they had just survived a gunfight against eight

gang members. Satisfied that Carol was unscathed, Daryl gently brushed the shards of glass out of her hair. Carol, still trembling, wrapped her arms around Daryl waist; he was shocked, but he wrapped his arms around Carol's waist and hugging her back; they stood that way for a long while.

Another rustling sound caught Daryl's attention, and when he looked ahead his eyes widened at the sight of a herd of walkers stumbling out of the forest. The second round of gunplay had drawn more unexpected guests.

Daryl broke the embrace, and when Carol turned around she gasped in fright at the sight of the herd slowly stumbling towards them. "Let's get out of here," she said.

Daryl nodded in agreement. He ran to the idle Bronco and tugged on Merle's body, dragging his heavy corpse out of the truck bed. "The hell with the truck, take one of the jeeps!" he shouted to Carol.

Carol nodded, picked up her shotgun and ran to the gang's Jeep Cherokee that wasn't damaged in the gunfight. Carol peered inside and sighed with relief when she saw the keys were still in the ignition.

Daryl, meanwhile, held Merle's body—the blankets now shredded by bullets and covered in blood—in his arms, and struggled to reach the Jeep Carol had chosen as their getaway vehicle. The herd meanwhile, continued to stumble after them, and they grew angrier and louder with every step.

Carol opened the Cherokee's front door, thumbed on the safety to the Mossberg 500, and slipped it butt first into the passenger seat's foot well. She climbed into the driver's seat, turned the ignition, and the Jeep's engine came to life; so did the CD player, and the Latin hip-hop blasted over the stereo again.

"Open the damn door!" Daryl shouted as he nodded his head at the rear passenger seats.

The lead walkers in the herd were now feasting on Mateo and his dead gang members. The rest of the herd pushed their way past and continued to stumble towards Daryl and Carol in the Jeep Cherokee up ahead.

Carol turned around in the driver's seat, reached for the left rear door handle, and opened it. Daryl opened the door all the way, and dropped Merle's heavy corpse onto the rear passenger seats. He then unslung his crossbow, tossed it after his brother's body, and slammed the door shut.

The herd had now reached the dead teen, and just as it was with the fresh corpses of Mateo and his gang, the lead walkers dropped down and began to feast on the youngest gang member, while their comrades staggered forward.

Daryl opened the passenger door, climbed inside the Jeep Cherokee, and sat in the passenger seat. "Put it in reverse!" he ordered as the herd got even closer.

Carol put the Jeep Cherokee in reverse, and stepped on the gas. The Jeep moved backwards quickly, and Carol looked over her shoulder to check there were no walkers or obstructions behind them. A few feet later, Carol stopped the Jeep, put it in drive, and stepped on the gas again. The Jeep Cherokee flew along the field, and Carol drove it past the herd,

across the rear of the feed mill, and back onto the gravel parking lot; within moments she and Daryl were on the paved road on their way back to the prison, with the Latin hip-hop blaring through the stereo.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

The Jeep Cherokee sped along the deserted road with Carol at the wheel and Daryl sitting beside her. They both were sweating and breathing heavily after not only winning a gunfight against a gang of Latinos, but also barely escaping from a herd of walkers. They had succeeded in retrieving Merle's body, but they almost got killed twice, and just minutes apart.

Daryl leaned forward in the passenger seat and buried his face in his hands. He mentally cursed himself for letting Carol talk him into letting her accompany him on his mission to bring Merle's body back to the prison. If Carol had been shot, or if she had been bit….

The Latin hip-hop continued blaring out of the Jeep Cherokee's stereo. Daryl realized the music was still playing and he took his hand away from his eyes to look at the Jeep's stereo. A few moments later his eyes burned with anger and he sat up straight in the passenger seat. "Screw this shit," he said angrily.

Daryl's hand slammed onto the stereo's control panel and began punching the buttons. The Latin hip-hop stopped suddenly and a moment later the CD slid out of the stereo; Daryl yanked the CD out, pressed the window button on the passenger door's armrest, and the power window slid down, and he tossed the CD out into the overgrown fields.

Carol looked from the road to Daryl, but said nothing.

"Goddamn Spic rap shit," Daryl said as he pressed the window button again, rising up the power window.

"What's wrong?" Carol asked with concern.

Daryl glanced at Carol, grabbed the Mosberg 500 shotgun that was leaning on the left side of the passenger seat, and moved it to the right. After a minute he said, "You shouldn't have been there."

Carol looked at Daryl again. "What?" she asked.

"You shouldn't have been there," Daryl answered in a higher tone.

Carol looked at the road and back at Daryl. "You couldn't bring Merle back by yourself."

Daryl snorted. "I didn't need any help."

Carol watched the road, but she sighed angrily and shook her head in frustration. "Sure, you could've handled those creeps by yourself."

"Damn right!" Daryl snapped as he looked at Carol. "They were punks, not Green Berets! I could've handled them!"

"How were you going to do that when they not only had the drop on you, they also took away your gun?"

"Hey, I was workin' on a plan! If I could get my hands on their boss, they would've had to let us go!"

"Are you sure about that? I saw that kid shoot the man you took hostage. I doubt taking their leader hostage would've made him think twice."

"Hey, none of that shit would've happened if you hadn't shot that walker bitch's head off while she was still in the damn truck!"

Carol laughed in surprise. "Oh, really?!"

"Does this look like the Bronco?" Daryl asked as he spread his arms out. "That 12 gauge shell covered the seats and windshield in walker brains and blood; that truck didn't need a bucket of water and some rags, it needed a Goddamn car wash!"

Carol shook her head again and waited a few moments before she gave her rebuttal. "If you're going to blame me for losing the Bronco, don't forget that you damaged it flying downhill like a little boy on a sled, and that walker I shot was part of a small herd we shot down together. I heard that gang leader tell you that he heard the shots; they would've shown up regardless!"

Daryl turned towards Carol, and held his hands out to signal her to stop talking. "Wait a Goddamn min—"

"What if that gang chased us?" Carol interrupted. "Would they have run us off the road, executed us then and there, or would they have followed us to the prison and attacked it?"

Daryl looked at Carol for a few moments and then he sat back in the passenger seat and lowered his head. "You shouldn't have been there," he muttered as he repeated his earlier statement.

Carol looked at Daryl. "What?" she asked in disbelief that he wanted to continue their argument.

Daryl closed his eyes and raised his head to the roof. "You shouldn't have been there, Goddammit!"

"Are you serious, Daryl?" Carol asked, wide-eyed. "Do you think with the Governor's gone, I should stay inside the prison where it's safe? Well, I won't do that. I was a prisoner in my marriage; I won't be a prisoner again. I'm alive and I'm going to stay alive, and if that means…that I have to….if I have to….kill…"

Tears began to run down Carol's face and she leaned forward in the driver's seat. Daryl looked at the former housewife with concern and gingerly placed his hand on her shoulder. "Pull over. Pull over," he said calmly.

Carol sat up straight in the driver's seat, ran her hand across her eyes and nodded her understanding; she pulled the Jeep Cherokee to the side of the road, put it in park, turned the key, and killed the engine. With the jeep stopped Carol burst into tears again. Daryl wrapped his arms around Carol and pulled her towards him, and she wrapped her arms around him and cried on his shoulder. She cried for several minutes until she took several breaths and said, "I killed people. Not walkers; people."

"It's all right," Daryl said comfortingly.

"No, it's not!" Carol argued as she pulled away from Daryl. "I killed…three men a while ago; I didn't even…wound one of the Governor's people during the…war. What just happened, I know I had to kill them, but it…wasn't war. Don't you understand?"

Daryl stared into Carol's pleading eyes and he nodded. "Yeah, I get it."

Carol smiled in appreciation and wiped away the last of her tears.

"Come on," Daryl said as he nodded towards the passenger door, "step outside and catch your breath for a minute."

Carol nodded again. Daryl opened the passenger door and with the Mossberg 500 shotgun in hand, climbed out of the Jeep Cherokee; he thumbed off the safety and watched the empty road and the overgrown field. Carol opened the driver's side door, climbed out of the Jeep Cherokee, and stared ahead at the overgrown field on her side of the road; nothing or no one stepped out of the waist high to threaten her.

The jeep's glove compartment opened and Carol turned around to see Daryl, standing on the foot step, and rummaging through all the papers and miscellaneous items inside it. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Just seein' what Panchito Pistoles and his amigos left us," Daryl explained. His hand wrapped around a familiar object, and he pulled out a pack of Marlboro cigarettes. "Lookee here!" Daryl grinned as he waved his newfound treasure at Carol, "this new ride ain't so bad after all!"

Carol smiled politely at the proud Daryl, and he grinned in return. Daryl slipped the cigarette pack into a pocket of his leather biker vest, and he closed the passenger door, picked up the shotgun from the jeep's hood, and walked around the jeep; he closed the driver's side door and stood beside Carol, who stood with her hands in her raincoat's pockets.

"You okay?" Daryl asked Carol as he placed the Mossberg 500 shotgun to his right side against the Jeep Cherokee.

Carol smiled again and nodded for emphasis. "Gotta be," she said unconvincingly.

Carol then folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the Jeep Cherokee. Daryl repeated the housewife's gestures and watched her from the corner of his eye as she stared out into space.

•••

Several quiet minutes had passed before Daryl dug into his biker vest's pocket and pulled out the pack of Marlboro cigarettes. "Want a smoke?" he asked Carol as he offered her a cigarette.

Carol gazed longingly at the unlit cigarette for a few moments but she shook her head. "No thanks. I gave up smoking when I learned I was…" her words trailed off and she looked down at her boots.

 _Sophia._

Daryl frowned and mentally cursed himself. The one thing that can make a woman give up cigarettes is pregnancy, and he had just reminded Carol of the daughter she lost last year. He put the cigarette between his lips, returned the pack to his vest pocket, and reached into the other one for his nickel plated Zippo lighter. As Daryl lit his cigarette, he tried to think of something that would cheer Carol up, and as he puffed on his cigarette, a teenage memory lit in his memory that made him grin.

"You know," Daryl said as he took the cigarette away from his lips, "I've always thought there was nothin' sexier than a woman smokin' a cigarette."

Carol blushed, giggled, and burst out into laughter. Daryl puffed out a cloud of cigarette smoke, and grinned broadly.

•••

Daryl was nearly finished with his cigarette when he said to Carol, "We best reload our guns before we go on."

Carol nodded and took her Colt Detective Special out of her raincoat's pocket. Carol pushed back on the ejector release, and the cylinder swung out of the frame, she pushed down on the ejector rod, spilling the five spent cases and one live round into the palm of her left hand, and she let the spent cases fall onto the road, but her hands started trembling as she tried to load the one live road into a chamber.

Daryl removed his now shorter cigarette from his lips, puffed out the smoke, and returned it. "Give it here," he said to Carol, gesturing with his right hand.

Carol wordlessly handed the revolver and bullet to Daryl, and he easily slipped the bullet into a cylinder. "Got any more?" Daryl asked.

Carol opened her raincoat, dug into an inner pocket, and pulled out a handful of .38 Special bullets. Daryl opened his left hand, and Carol placed them into his palm. Daryl juggled the bullets in his hand, slipped one bullet between his index and middle fingers, and dropped it into an empty chamber.

"I'm not sorry," Carol said suddenly.

Daryl glanced at Carol, and returned to reloading her revolver. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"That gang; I'm not…I'm not sorry that we killed them," Carol explained.

Daryl nodded in understanding and continued to reload Carol's revolver.

"But shouldn't I feel sorry?" Carol asked. "They…they were people."

"The hell they were people," Daryl said as he loaded the last bullet and closed the cylinder into the revolver's frame. "They were killers; probably spent their high school years doin' drive-bys, and sellin' drugs."

Daryl returned the revolver to Carol handle first. Carol accepted the revolver, looked at it for a moment, and looked at Daryl. "You sound like you speak from experience," she said as she tucked her revolver into her waistband.

"I've been around. I've seen some shit," Daryl shrugged. He reached behind the small of his back and pulled out his Colt Official Police revolver. "Can you loan me some bullets?" he asked Carol.

Carol smiled in disbelief but reached back into her raincoat and pulled out the last of her .38 special bullets. She placed them in Daryl's left hand, and he nodded his thanks. Daryl repeated the ejection process on his own revolver, and began reloading.

"Can…can you tell me about it? I mean, what you and Merle did before all of this happened?" Carol asked nervously.

Daryl dropped a bullet into a chamber, then he lowered his arms slightly and looked at Carol; she was still nervous, but she kept her gaze on him. "We weren't featured on America's Most Wanted, if that's what you're thinkin'," he answered.

"But you said—"

"All lot of shit happens in biker bars: brawls, stabbings, shootings. Savvy?" Daryl said curtly.

Carol's courage shrank at the sound of Daryl's tone and she lowered her head. Daryl's expression softened at the sight of Carol's reaction, and he mentally cursed himself again. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his Red Wing boot.

"I…I'm sorry," Daryl said softly as he resumed reloading his gun.

Carol looked up at Daryl again, wide eyed.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," Daryl explained. "I'd be dead now like Merle if you hadn't insisted on comin' with me. I was just mad at myself, 'cause if anythin' happened to you, I'd…I'd…"

Carol brushed away a tear and she smiled at Daryl. "It's all right."

Daryl blushed and loaded the last empty chamber and closed the cylinder back into the revolver's frame. "You did what you had to back there. Nice shootin'," he said with a grin to Carol.

"I had a good teacher," Carol smiled.

Daryl blushed as he remembered the times he taught Carol how to shoot both handguns and rifles during the group's nomadic winter after the loss of Hershel Greene's farm. "All right, enough with the love bullshit," Daryl muttered, "let's get back to the prison. I'll drive."

Carol nodded. Daryl opened the driver's side door and placed his Colt Official Police revolver inside the door bucket. He picked up the Mossberg 500 shotgun and was stepping into the Jeep Cherokee when Carol placed a hand on his right arm. "Wait," Carol said.

Daryl stepped down from the Jeep and faced Carol.

"Tell me one thing: how do I…deal with killing people?" Carol asked.

Daryl sighed deeply, and stepped back into the jeep, where he placed the shotgun butt-first in the passenger seat's foot well. He stepped down from the jeep and faced Carol again, but this time he placed his right hand on Carol's shoulder, and although it was rare for Daryl to act so familiar, she didn't step away.

"I…I ain't an angel, but I ain't a devil either, at least I don't think I am," Daryl explained, "but if it takes bein' cold to stay alive, to do the things that will keep the group alive, then that's what it takes."

Daryl stared into Carol's eyes and she didn't blink. He took his hand away from her shoulder and climbed inside the Jeep Cherokee. Carol walked around the Jeep, opened the passenger door and climbed inside. They looked at each other again; she nodded and he nodded in return. Daryl turned the key and the jeep's engine rumbled to life. Daryl put the jeep in drive, eased it onto the empty road, stepped on the gas pedal, and he and Carol resumed their drive back to the prison.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

Glenn—wearing his riot armor—and Maggie stepped inside Cell Block C's common room. They had risked their lives as part of a diversion led by Rick against the walkers in the field, and they had seen Daryl nearly run Rick over as he drove one of the Governor's abandoned trucks downhill and through the prison's shattered gate.

"That…stupid….self-centered….idiot," Glenn panted angrily as he ran a gloved hand across his forehead.

"Don't say that to Daryl when he gets back," Maggie warned her fiancé.

"Come on, Maggie," Glenn whined as he stood up straight, "Rick stuck his neck out for Daryl, and he almost got run over as a thank you."

Look," Maggie began as she faced Glenn, "I understand that you're angry at Merle for what happened to us in Woodbury, but he was—"

What happened to my dad?" a young, frightened voice asked.

Glenn and Maggie both looked in the voice's direction and saw Carl, sitting at a table, looking at them with his eyes wide as he held his baby sister Judith, in his arms. The young couple glanced at each other, and Glenn huffed in regret for scaring Carl.

"Uh…nothing, Carl. Forget it," Glenn said, as he looked down at his boots.

"Bullshit! What the hell happened to my dad?" Carl shouted as he stood up, and Judith cried at the sound or her brother's angry voice.

"Hey," Maggie whispered as she lifted a finger at Carl to signal him to be quiet. "Don't let your dad or mine hear you swearing!"

"What's the big deal?" Carl asked loudly as he walked towards Glenn and Maggie. "What's my dad going to do about it, make me stay indoors? Newsflash: that's what he always does!"

Maggie walked down the common room's steps and Glenn followed close behind. "Damnit, Carl. Don't swear, and stop being mad at your father!" she ordered.

Carl stopped in front of Maggie, and glared at her with steely eyes. "Maybe you should take your own advice."

Maggie put her hands on her hips and she and Carl glared at each other as Judith cried in his arms. Glenn stood by Maggie's side and nervously watched the cold standoff between his fiancée and the group's youngest male member. "What's gotten into you?" she asked angrily.

After a few tense moments, Carl said, "The whole world."

"Carl. Dude," Glenn said as he shook his head sadly, "you can't keep acting like this. I'm sorry about your mom—we all are— but your dad lost her too. Plus he's got you, Judith and the rest of us to look after. Give him a break, okay?"

Carl's glare slowly faded away like steam off a bathroom mirror and he lowered his head in remorse. Judith continued to cry and Carl bounced her in his arms. "What…what happened to my dad?" he asked softly.

Glenn looked at Maggie, and she nodded in approval. "We all followed the plan your father laid out: Sasha and the others distracted the walkers along the fence line, while me and Maggie moved the piece we cut free yesterday. Some walkers heard us and started to come back, so your father stepped out into the field and shot them down; that's when he was almost run over by Daryl who drove out of here like he was Dale Earnhardt."

Carl looked out into space as he processed Glenn's story; a minute later he sneered and shook his head in anger as he kept bouncing Judith in his arms. "Daryl, you son of a bitch," he muttered.

"My thoughts exactly," Glenn agreed.

"That's enough from the both of you," Maggie ordered angrily.

Carl and Glenn both looked at Maggie and when they saw her glare, they both lowered their heads in shame. Maggie's expression softened and she looked around the common room. "Where's Beth?" she asked.

"In her cell," Carl said as he turned profile and gestured with his head at the open doorway.

Maggie blinked. "Why?"

Carl faced Maggie and blushed. "Uh, I got angry earlier, and mentioned you and Glenn were going into the tombs, and she…got upset."

Maggie cast a disappointed look at the ashamed Carl; she sighed wearily, and then walked past him and through the open door to the cellblock. Carl looked up at Glenn, who shook his head in disappointment. Carl sat down in the nearest chair and saw that Judith had fallen asleep; Carl smiled. At least he had done one thing right this morning.

•••

Maggie stood in the doorway of Beth's cell, watching as her little sister lay on top of her bunk, weeping onto her pillow. She felt a pang of guilt for causing Beth's sorrow, but it was time to help Glenn and Tyreese recover the guns lost in the tombs.

Maggie left Beth alone, walked up the staircase to the second tier, and entered the cell next door to Glenn's. Piled atop the desk bolted to the wall and the chair in front of it was the riot gear she had worn yesterday when the group had chased the Governor's army out of the prison. Maggie reached behind the

small of her back, withdrew her Walther P99 pistol, and racked back the slide: one bullet in the chamber. She released the slide, set the pistol down on a clear spot on the desk, gathered the armor's limb pieces in her arms, and sat down on the bottom bunk.

Maggie placed the right shin guard onto her leg, secured the straps, and did the same with the left shin guard. Maggie stood up to get the body armor from the chair when a body slammed into the cell's doorway. Maggie leapt back in surprise and her back hit the far wall. She immediately thought a walker had gotten inside the cellblock and she looked desperately at her Walther P99 pistol that she left atop the cell's desk. The figure, meanwhile, was still leaning against the cell's doorframe, panting for breath and sniffling back its tears.

"Mag…Maggie," the figure panted.

Maggie looked from her pistol to the figure. "Beth?" she asked uncertainly.

The figure lifted its head, revealing itself as Beth, her eyes red from crying.

"Oh, Beth," Maggie said as she exhaled with relief. "You scared the hell out of me."

"Are you…really…going into…the tombs?" Beth asked as she caught her breath.

"Yeah," Maggie nodded. "But you knew that."

"I thought Glenn would talk you out of it," Beth said as she stepped inside the cell.

"He tried," Maggie smiled as she walked past Beth and picked up the body armor from the chair.

"Maybe you should listen to him for once," Beth said as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

Maggie blinked. "What?"

Beth laughed nervously. "Did you forget what happened the last time you were in the tombs?"

Maggie immediately thought about the morning after the group moved into Cell Block C; Rick had selected her, her father Hershel, Glenn, Daryl, and T-Dog to follow him into the prison's dark hallways to find the infirmary, armory, and cafeteria. Using only their blade weapons and their flashlights, they moved cautiously along the dark prison hallways stopping occasionally for when they heard a sound up ahead, or for Glenn to mark the way back with a can of spray paint. They had just turned a corner when they came face to face with a group of walkers; the group panicked and ran back the way they came, but Maggie and Glenn were cut off from the others by another group of walkers. They found safety inside the boiler room, but they soon heard a gunshot, and when they snuck outside to investigate, Maggie discovered to her horror that Hershel had been bitten on his right leg.

The group carried Hershel to the cafeteria, with the walkers following them. Daryl and T-Dog barricaded the doors while Rick took a hatchet and amputated Hershel's leg. Minutes later, the group made it safely back to Cell Block C, reluctantly taking with them four prisoners who had survived by having been locked in the cafeteria by a guard. Two of the prisoners,

Andrew and Thomas, tried to take over the prison but were killed. The other two, Oscar and Alex, joined the group but were killed by the Governor. "Yeah, I remember," Maggie nodded.

Beth stepped forward and grabbed Maggie by the shoulders. "You can't do that again!" she shouted.

Maggie gently brushed Beth's hands away and her little sister stepped back as if she had broken a rule of protocol between siblings.

"Sis, I have to do this," Maggie said.

"No, you don't!" Beth argued. "Ask Rick to take your place!"

Maggie slipped the body armor over her head and secured the front and back straps. "I can't; we've asked too much of Rick already."

"Then wait for Daryl to come back!"

"We need to put those walkers down **before** Daryl comes back," Maggie said with a tinge of irritation.

Beth watched stunned as Maggie picked up the right forearm guard from her bunk. "I don't get it. Why are you risking your life again?" she asked.

Maggie secured the right forearm guard and looked at Beth. "I'm just trying to help the group."

"There are lots of ways you can help the group: there's guard duty, runs, use what dad taught you back home to help the group when they get sick."

Maggie looked stunned at Beth and started to laugh. "That was veterinary!"

"So what?" Beth argued. "Dad used his training to save Carl. He patched up Daryl when Andrea shot him by accident, remember?"

"Dad didn't need my help then, and he doesn't need my help now," Maggie declared as she picked up the left forearm guard from her bed.

Beth's eyes welled with tears again and she trembled with rage. "Have you gone crazy?!"

Maggie secured the left forearm guard and looked again at Beth; her angry expression softened when she saw her little sister was on the verge of another crying fit.

"Sis, I'm not crazy," Maggie explained as she placed a calm hand on Beth's shoulder, "I'm just trying to help the group, our family, survive."

Beth lowered her head, stared at her boots, and said nothing.

"Remember what dad always says?" Maggie asked with a grin. "'We've all got jobs to do'". Well, this is my job for today."

Beth smiled at the warm memory of home and better times. She looked up at her big sister and nodded. "Please be careful."

Maggie nodded reassuringly and Beth smiled.

Maggie turned towards the desk and picked up the gauntlets and helmet. She dropped the gauntlets inside the helmet and looked down at her Walther P99 pistol. Maggie knew she had to leave the pistol behind: she had no holster and she couldn't carry it in her waistband while wearing her riot armor. Besides, the last time a group went into the tombs further proved that gunshots only attracted more walkers. Maggie stepped out into the hallway and looked back at Beth, who was watching her sadly. Maggie smiled at Beth, and Beth smiled bravely in return; then Maggie walked downstairs and towards the common room and when her footsteps faded away, Beth burst into tears and ran downstairs to her own cell.

•••

Maggie, with her helmet tucked under her arm, walked into the common room. She immediately saw Carl, sitting at a table again with Judith in his arms, acting as if the earlier argument hadn't occurred. Sitting at a table near the far wall was Glenn, with his gauntlets and helmet atop the table while a duffle bag lay at his feet. Maggie smiled and walked towards Glenn, who stood up nervously. Carl kept watching Judith, oblivious that two other people were in the common room.

"Uh, hi," Glenn muttered.

"Hi," Maggie said cordially.

"Look, I just want to apologize for what I said about Merle earlier. It not only pissed off Daryl, but it got you upset, and I didn't mean to do either," Glenn confessed. "When Daryl comes back, I'll apologize to him too, and if…if…he punches my face in, I deserve it."

Maggie smiled, stepped forward, and kissed Glenn on his cheek. "Thank you," she said.

Glenn blushed in embarrassment and glanced at Carl to see if the boy was watching and was relieved to see that he wasn't.

The courtyard door opened and Tyreese and Karen stepped inside the common room. Tyreese's framing hammer was on his hip, while Karen held an aluminum baseball bat. They both walked across the common room, and when Tyreese saw Carl holding his baby sister Judith, he smiled brightly.

"What's up, kid?" Tyreese asked Carl with a smile.

Carl kept staring at his baby sister. Tyreese shook his head, slightly annoyed by the boy's lack of manners.

Glenn and Maggie nodded at the approaching couple, who nodded in return.

Glenn looked at Tyreese from head to toe. "Uh, you're not wearing any riot gear."

Tyreese laughed merrily. "Sorry, I don't think the Department of Corrections was thinking of brothers my size when they designed those suits. Now, if I had my pads and helmet from my playing days, then I'd be eager to mix it up with those walkers."

"You played football in high school?" Glenn asked.

"Yeah, I did," Tyreese answered proudly. "I also played in college and the pros; I played for the Atlanta Falcons."

Tyreese smiled, anticipating that his friends would recognize him; instead, they exchanged awkward glances.

"C'mon. Don't any of you guys recognize me?" Tyreese whined.

"Uh, I'm a baseball fan," Glenn said awkwardly.

"I'm a girl," Maggie said plainly.

"I hate sports," Karen said.

Tyreese sighed gloomily and his shoulders slumped. "I'm now ready to die."

"No, you're not," Glenn said confidently. "You're going into the tombs with us and we're all coming out the tombs alive."

Maggie, Tyreese, and Karen, impressed by the young Korean's confidence and leadership, nodded.

"So…what are we waiting for?" Karen asked as she stepped over to the duffle bag and took out a flashlight. Karen was just begun to stand straight when Glenn gently took hold of her wrist.

"Actually, Karen, I need you to stay in the next room and guard the door," Glenn said.

"What?! Why me?" Karen asked angrily. "Are you saying I can't kill those—"

"Me, Maggie, and even Tyreese know what to expect in the tombs," Glenn explained. "If anything goes wrong in there, we'll have to get back here in a hurry, and you could easily get lost and swarmed by those walkers."

Karen glared at Glenn, but she realized he was right, and nodded in understanding. Glenn picked up the heavy duffel bag and handed it to Maggie. She opened the bag slightly and saw it held three flashlights along with a Gerber Gator Machete, and a Gerber Machete Pro: two of the blade weapons Carl found in one of the abandoned cars along the highway last year. Maggie slung the duffel bag over her back and awaited Glenn's next move.

Glenn put his helmet on, slid its face shield over his face, and put on his gauntlets. "Get ready," he said to his group.

Maggie shook her helmet over the table and her gauntlets fell out. She put on her helmet and gauntlets like Glenn just did.

Tyreese withdrew his framing hammer from its holder and swung it lightly in his hand as if he were a baseball player preparing to step into the batters' box for the first inning of the World Series. He looked at Karen and smiled, she smiled nervously.

Glenn turned around and walked towards the far wall; in the right corner was a barred door. He opened it, and flipped the light switch, revealing an anteroom with a barred door at its far wall, and beyond that were the tombs, and the countless walkers that staggered through its dark corridors. Glenn looked over his shoulder at Maggie, Tyreese, and Karen, and stepped inside; his companions followed, while Carl remained in his seat, watching his baby sister sleep.

Glenn stood in the vestibule and tugged off his right gauntlet, dug into his back pocket, and pulled out a set of prison keys. "Karen, get the door please," he asked quietly.

Karen nodded and took the keys from Glenn; she walked over to the door, and placed her hand on the handle.

Maggie dug into the duffle bag and handed a flashlight to Glenn and another one to Tyreese; next she took out the Gerber Gator Machete and handed it to Glenn.

Glenn tested the machete's weight and remembered how frightened he was when he and Maggie were separated from Rick and the others when they first went into the tombs. He knew that couldn't happen again; he had to step up and be a leader like Rick. He tightened his grip on the machete's handle and looked at the barricaded door. "Open it," Glenn said to Karen.

Karen nodded. She placed the key in the lock, turned it, and pulled back on the handle. The door swung open slowly and was accompanied by a low creak from the rusty hinges.

Glenn aimed his flashlight at the dark doorframe, pushed the switch, and the beam of light revealed an empty, debris strewn hallway. Glenn moved his flashlight to along the right side of the hallway and he smiled in relief when the beam covered the white arrow pointed towards the anteroom.

 _What? Did you expect the walkers had covered up the arrows you spray-painted on the walls, dumbass? Just move slowly, pick up the guns, and keep an eye out for those arrows, and everything will be fine._

Glenn took a deep breath, held the Gator Machete at the ready and turned slightly towards Maggie and Tyreese. "Let's go," he said firmly.

Maggie reached inside the duffel bag and took out the last flashlight and the Gerber Machete Pro; she nodded at Glenn and pushed her flashlight's switch. Tyreese took a nervous breath and pushed his flashlight's switch too.

Glenn walked cautiously into the hallway, and Maggie followed him. Tyreese looked at Karen, who nodded supportively, and he walked into the hallway. Karen closed the door but didn't lock it; she sat down on the floor with her back against the wall and the aluminum baseball bat in her lap, and said a prayer that her friends would be safe from harm.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

Hershel made his way slowly from the common room to the cells, the tips of his crutches making a snapping sound that echoed faintly across the cell block. The distance was a short one, but for an old man like Hershel, still adjusting to life with an amputated leg, it was also strenuous.

The old farmer came to a stop in front of one the cells on the first floor, peaked inside and saw his youngest daughter lying on the bottom bunk, her face buried into the pillow. "Beth?" Hershel whispered.

Beth moved her head slightly, sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Yes, Daddy?" she asked with her head low.

"May I come in?" Hershel asked.

Beth sat quietly and Hershel was about to repeat his request when she whispered, "Yes."

Hershel hobbled into the cell and sat down beside Beth. He took his crutches and leaned them against the bunk on his left side. Beth looked at her father, revealing her reddened eyes.

Hershel nodded sadly. "I saw you crying earlier, Doodlebug. I thought it was best to let you get it out of your system."

Beth smiled her thanks and looked down at the floor.

"I take it you learned that Maggie was going into the tombs with Glenn," Hershel said.

Beth nodded. "I tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen to me."

Hershel let Beth's answer go unchallenged and asked, "Are you going to wait in your cell until Maggie and Glenn come back?"

"Maggie **won't** be coming back," Beth answered coldly. "She's going to die in the tombs. What difference does it make where I am when that happens? She's going to be torn to pieces by those walkers and there's nothing I can do about it."

Hershel sighed wearily and shook his head. "Beth—"

"No, I could've done something," Beth corrected herself as she looked at her father. "I could've prayed for God to protect Maggie, but I don't think He would answer my prayer. He didn't answer my prayers when I asked Him to save mom and Shawn."

"That's enough, Beth," Hershel said firmly.

Beth stopped talking and looked down at the floor again.

Hershel held Beth's left hand and squeezed it gently. "I understand that you're upset over what your sister is doing, but being upset at her, and at God, won't accomplish anything."

Beth looked at her father and shook her head sadly. "No, dad, it's God who won't accomplish anything."

Hershel looked at his youngest daughter but didn't reply to her blasphemous statement.

"We pray and follow the Bible, but it hasn't helped us at all," Beth said as she wiped away her tears with her right hand. "After mom and Shawn were bit we sat at their bedsides praying for God to let them get better; instead, their fever got so hot, we couldn't even hold them as they died."

Hershel sat and listened to Beth, he was still holding her hand.

"Otis tried to make up for shooting Carl by helping Shane get the medical supplies you needed to save him, but Otis was torn apart by walkers; so were Jimmy and Patricia when that herd overrun the farm. They were our family, Dad, but they all died horribly.

"What about Carol's little girl, Sophia?" Beth continued. "There's no one more innocent than a child, but she was bitten by a walker and died without her mother, and she was inside the barn the whole time while everyone was searching the forest for her.

"And now Maggie is going to die," Beth whispered. "We die one at a time in this world, Dad, have you noticed that? One by one, we'll die until everyone is gone.

"Why would God let all of this happen?" Beth asked. "Maybe He wants us to suffer, or maybe…He doesn't exist."

Her diatribe finished, Beth lowered her head and exhaled wearily. A moment later, Hershel wrapped his arm around Beth's shoulders and pulled her gently towards his side. Beth rested her temple on her Hershel's shoulder, closed her eyes, and remembered how her father used to hug her when she had a nightmare or a bad day at school.

"It's all right, Doodlebug," Hershel said comfortingly. "You're upset, and you have every right to be. But Maggie has a job to do and she's going to be all right; so will the rest of us. The world's always been a dangerous place; we just need to be careful, smart, and strong."

Beth took her temple away from Hershel's shoulder and sulked. "I can't be strong anymore, Dad. I'm too tired."

Hershel lowered his head but he didn't pull his arm away from Beth's shoulders. A minute later he raised his head and looked at his youngest daughter. "Do you remember when you said God won't accomplish anything?" he asked.

Beth looked at her father and nodded.

"You're right," Hershel said.

Beth gasped in surprise at her father's statement.

"God won't accomplish anything, because He's expecting you to do that," Hershel explained. "I've always believed that God doesn't throw anything at us that we can't handle, and Beth, you've handled all of this: the deaths of your mother and brother, the deaths of Lori and T-Dog, and the responsibility of caring for Judith, better than you realize."

Beth blushed and even smiled a little. "Thank you, Dad."

Hershel smiled in return. "You're welcome. Now, do you want still want to wait here in your cell, or do you want to wait in the common room?"

Beth looked down at the floor and she concentrated on her decision. A minute later she looked up at Hershel, but her face had the cheerful expression she usually wore. "I…I think I'll stay here, but just for a while."

Hershel nodded and pulled his arm away from Beth's shoulders and grabbed his crutches and stood up gingerly as he prepared to leave her cell.

"Dad?" Beth asked.

"Could you stay until I'm ready to leave?" Beth asked hopefully.

"You don't mind having an old rummy for company?" Hershel asked with a smile.

Beth giggled and shook her head. "No, I don't," she answered.

Hershel chuckled, sat down on the bunk again, and leaned his crutches against the bunk. Beth smiled at her father and looked at the wall in front of her and she prepared to step out of her cell and learn the fate of her sister Maggie.

•••

Glenn had just made the left turn at the corner when he stopped in his tracks. "Look," he whispered to his group.

Maggie and Tyreese caught up to Glenn and aimed their flashlights at the spot illuminated by the beam of his flashlight. On the floor beside one of the open cell doors was an M4A1 rifle. Glenn, Maggie, and Tyreese stared at the rifle for a few moments before they looked at each other.

"Well, it's a start, right?" Glenn asked with a smile.

"I hope we're not risking our asses just for one damn gun," Tyreese replied.

"Oh, I remember that most of the Governor's army ran out of the prison unarmed," Glenn said quickly.

Maggie sighed wearily and Tyreese's shoulders slumped. Glenn saw their negative reactions and he frowned. "Sorry. Sorry," he said apologetically.

Glenn walked over to the discarded rifle, knelt down, and put the Gerber Gator Machete down; he picked up the rifle, and motioned for Maggie to come over with the duffel bag.

Maggie walked over to Glenn, put the duffle bag on the floor, and tucked the Gerber Gator Machete Pro under her left arm. Glenn slipped his flashlight into his back pocket and with Maggie aiming her flashlight at the duffle bag; he carefully slipped the M4A1 inside it. A ghostly moan echoed along the dark hallway. Maggie grabbed the handle of her machete and was ready to fight whatever staggered forward. Glenn stood slowly and wrapped both hands around around the handle of his own machete.

"Aww hell," Tyreese said as he tightened his grip on his framing hammer.

"What do we do?" Maggie whispered anxiously to Glenn.

Glenn knelt down again and picked up his machete; he stood up, reached for his back pocket, took out his flashlight, and aimed it down the hallway. "Let's go," he ordered as he moved forward cautiously.

Maggie picked up the duffle bag and looked at Tyreese, who took a deep breath and walked over to her; they aimed their flashlights along the hallway, raised their weapons, and followed Glenn.

Glenn came to a corner, turned to his right and waited for his group to catch up. He scanned the front with his flashlight and saw open cell doors on either side of the hallway. Several mutilated corpses of prisoners lay on the floor, while the ghostly moan echoed up ahead.

Maggie and Tyreese caught up, with Maggie standing at Glenn's right and Tyreese standing at his left. Maggie scanned the floor and stopped when the beam fell upon a wooden and metallic object. "There," she whispered.

Glenn aimed his flashlight at the spot highlighted by Maggie's flashlight and saw she had found an M14 rifle with a walnut stock; lying next to the rifle were several spent cartridges.

"I found another one," Tyreese whispered.

Glenn and Maggie aimed their flashlights further ahead and followed the beam of Tyreese's flashlight to see another M4A1 rifle; like its older counterpart, several spent cartridges were lying beside it.

"Tyreese," Glenn whispered, getting the former pro-football player's attention.

Glenn gestured for Tyreese to pick up the M4A1, while he and Maggie would pick up the M14.

Glenn, Maggie, and Tyreese had just taken their first steps towards the discarded firearms, when the ghostly moan started again, this time much louder and closer. Glenn, Maggie, and Tyreese stopped and they nervously as a pair of yellow eyes appeared up ahead. Glenn, Maggie, and Tyreese all aimed their flashlights at the eyes, revealing a walker in a prison jumpsuit. The walker had a bite mark on his right wrist, and there was dry blood on his hands and around his mouth.

The walker stood still for a moment, as if it were surprised to discover three people alive wandering the tombs, but its yellow eyes blazed with anger and it growled in hunger. The walker staggered forward, its arms stretched out and its fingers ready to grasp him.

Tyreese stepped forward and brought his framing hammer down on the walker's skull.

KRAK!

The impact of the hammer's blow made the walker freeze for a moment, and then it fell backwards onto the floor. Tyreese ran forward, knelt down beside the walker, and brought the hammer down on the walker's forehead repeatedly.

KRAK! KRAK! KRAK!

Tyreese, panting heavily, stood up and aimed his flashlight down at the walker, now dead, with its head smashed open and its brain pulverized into ground beef. A wave of nausea ran through Tyreese and he covered his mouth with his free hand to stop from vomiting; when his stomach settled, he looked at his hammer, and saw it was covered in dark blood, pieces of brain matter, and chips of bone. Tyreese whispered a curse, knelt down beside the dead walker again, and wiped the hammer along its prison jumpsuit.

Glenn and Maggie watched Tyreese put down the prison walker, and now the young Korean tapped his fiancée on her shoulder to get her attention.

"The guns," Glenn whispered, "let's get them."

Maggie nodded and walked towards the M14, and Glenn walked towards the M4A1. They picked up the rifles and put them inside the duffle bag.

Tyreese, his hammer wiped clean, stood up. "I'll never get used to this," he confessed.

Glenn and Maggie looked at each other worriedly. They were part of a group that had spent a winter on the road. It had toughened up the group, but it also made them cold to the aftermath. It was likely that Tyreese and his group didn't have to fight as long or as hard as they had.

"I hope none of us do," Glenn said. "I mean, if we start seeing the walkers as insects, what does that say about who we've become?"

Tyreese looked at Glenn and Maggie, and Glenn and Maggie looked at each other.

A minute later, Maggie asked, "What now?"

Glenn scanned his flashlight across the top of the hallway and found the white arrow he had spray-painted from before. "That way," he answered.

•••

Hershel had stood up, said he needed to check on Beth, and hobbled away on his crutches, leaving Rick alone with his young son Carl, who sat across the common room at another table with his baby sister Judith sleeping in his arms. For Rick, it was a poignant scene, especially now that he had beaten the Governor and protected the group.

 _If only Lori were here._

Rick ran a hand through his hair and sighed sadly. He thought that when the prison was secured he and Lori would have time to mend their marriage, but she died; a casualty of one of his rare moments of oversight. If he had just made sure the prisoner Andrew had been killed by

the walkers. If he had stayed in the courtyard while Daryl and Glenn gathered wood for the pyres. If he had just talked to Lori; used the advice he had given Carl after his son angered Carol with those harsh words at Sophia's grave about her being an idiot for believing in heaven. If he had taken any of those options, maybe Lori would still be alive.

A tear rolled down Rick's eye and he brushed it away before Carl looked up and noticed it. He thought back to his visit at Lori's grave, and the comforting belief that wherever she was, heaven or some other spiritual plane, she was at peace.

Rick, his grief receding, stood up and walked across the common room to Carl's table. He stood beside Carl and waited until his son noticed his presence; a minute later, Carl looked up and smiled.

"Dad," Carl said.

Rick smiled in return. "Carl," he replied.

Carl looked at Judith for a moment and looked up at his father again.

"Let me take her," Rick said as he bent down and held his hands out.

Carl carefully handed Judith over to his father, who sat in the chair across from his son. Rick looked down at his infant daughter, who slept soundly. Rick smiled and looked at Carl, who was smiling also. It was no wonder Carl had ignored the recent activity in the common room.

"Are you still angry at me?" Rick asked Carl, hoping to start a conversation.

Carl shook his head. "No. You were right; Beth needed a break from taking care of Judith."

Rick nodded and looked at Judith again. "It was good of Beth to help out, but I'll move Judith into my cell."

"Really?" Carl asked.

"Yeah. The Governor's gone, so I'll be sleeping in my cell again instead of the towers or catwalks. Besides, a girl Beth's age shouldn't manage the responsibility of a baby."

Carl looked down at the table, and remembered Beth singing as she held Jewel in her arms.

"Carl?" Rick asked.

Carl blinked, looked up, and saw his father looking at him with concern. "What?"

"I was just telling you about Daryl's run out of the prison. I thought you'd like to know what happened."

"Oh? Oh, yeah. Yeah," Carl nodded quickly. "Glenn said Daryl almost ran you over."

Rick snorted amusingly. "Well, in hindsight, I did get in his way."

"What are you going to do when Daryl comes back?" Carl asked.

"I don't know," Rick admitted. "Maybe nothing. The war's over. We won. Don't you think it's time we should move on?"

Carl's eyes widened and he sat straight. His father had asked for his opinion before, but this was one of the few times it felt…important. Pride rushed through Carl's body and he adjusted the fit of his Stetson hat like a cowboy before sauntering inside a saloon.

"Yeah, we have to move on!" Carl said enthusiastically. "I mean, mom would want us to do that, wouldn't she?"

Rick smiled as he remembered Lori, and the happy times he shared with her and Carl. "I think she would want that, son."

After a minute of poignant silence, Carl asked, "Where's Michone?"

This time, Rick was the one who blinked and looked up. "Hmm?"

"Michonne," Carl repeated. "Did she replace Glenn on guard duty or something?"

"No," Rick said as he shook his head. "Michonne left with Daryl and Carol."

Carl blinked. "Really? I didn't think Daryl wanted anyone's help bringing Merle back to the prison."

"Oh, I think Carol went with Daryl to help retrieve Merle. Michonne told me she was leaving to hunt the Governor."

Carl tilted his head in confusion. "But…you just said the war was over."

"It is," Rick said immediately. "But Michonne doesn't think so. She thinks the Governor is hiding somewhere and she's going to find him and kill him."

Carl silently processed the startling news. A minute later he asked, "Do you think she'll find him?"

"No," Rick answered as he shook his head. "But it's something she has to do alone. She'll spend a few days hunting the Governor, and when she realizes he's gone or even dead, she'll come back."

"But aren't you worried about Michonne?"

Rick smiled confidently. "No. I don't know Michonne well, but I do know that she's a survivor."

Carl nodded and smiled in agreement. "Yeah, she's cool."

Rick did a sarcastic double take. "Oh, so you think a near stranger with a samurai sword is cool, but your dad waking up from his coma is nothing special."

Carl groaned and waved a hand dismissively. "Aw, come on, Dad."

Rick carefully pulled his right hand out from underneath Judith, and held up his palm to signal a halt. "It's all right, son, I'm just teasing."

A snapping sound echoed from the cellblock. Rick and Carl looked at the doorway to see Hershel hobble into the common room, with Beth beside him.

"Excuse us, but do you gentlemen mind if my daughter and I wait here for my eldest daughter and her fiancé to return from their task?"

Rick smiled and waved Hershel and Beth to the table. "Not at all, there're two seats left."

Hershel nodded his thanks and he and Beth walked over to the table and sat down. Hershel leaned his crutches against the nearest table. Carl blushed at being so close to Beth and pulled his Stetson down over his face before she or anyone else noticed it.

"They've been in the tombs for a long time," Rick said as he glanced over his shoulder at the doorway leading to the dark hallways.

"I'm certain they're being careful. God willing, I'll be the only fool in this group who loses a limb in this prison," Hershel joked.

"They'll be all right. I know it," Beth smiled confidently.

The two older men nodded in agreement. Carl tried desperately to think of something other than Beth, and he thought back to the last night on Hershel's farm when he saved his father from Shane, who had died and turned. Carl was scared at the time, but repeating the memory of killing the man he once saw as an uncle put him at ease. He pushed his Stetson slowly up, and waited along with the others for Glenn and Maggie to return from the tombs.

•••

"Jackpot," Glenn whispered gleefully as he aimed his flashlight at the floor.

Maggie and Tyreese scanned their flashlights across the floor and saw several rifles and submachine guns lying amongst dozens of spent shell casings. Maggie gasped in shock at the discovery.

"This must've been where Rick sprang the trap," Glenn said.

"I don't care if it is or not, these are all the guns we'll need," Tyreese replied.

Maggie stepped forward and placed the duffle bag on the floor. "Let's just grab these and get back to the others," she ordered.

Glenn nodded and he, Tyreese, and Maggie began picking up guns and placing them inside the duffle bag.

Glenn had just placed an FN FAL assault rifle into the duffle bag when he looked to his left, and saw a Heckler & Koch MP5A2 submachine gun lying in one of the open cells. "Oops," he whispered.

"What?" Maggie asked as she walked towards the duffle bag with an AKMS assault rifle in her left hand.

"That gun," Glenn answered as he pointed towards the open cell, "must've been kicked into the cell while the Governor's army ran out of the prison."

Maggie glanced at the submachine gun and shrugged, "Might as well get it," she said.

Glenn stepped towards the cell while Maggie slipped the AKMS inside the duffle bag. Glenn looked inside the cell and found an emaciated corpse lying on the bottom bunk like a

drunk sleeping off his latest bender. Glenn stepped inside the cell, and tapped the corpse's legs with his Gerber Gator Machete; it didn't stir.

Glenn, convinced the corpse hadn't turned, tucked the machete under his left arm, bent down, and picked up the submachine gun. Glenn had just begun to stand up, when the corpse on the bed suddenly leapt up, grabbed his shoulders, and screamed against the visor that protected Glenn's face.

Glenn screamed in terror, dropped his flashlight and machete, and fell back against the cell's door frame. The walker was on top of him, its jaws snapping at the plastic visor on Glenn's helmet, and its hands now gripping the submachine gun Glenn was using to keep the walker's hands away from his throat.

Maggie spun around and when she saw the walker on top of Glenn, her eyes widened with fright. "Glenn!" she screamed.

Maggie ran into the cell, the Gerber Gator Machete Pro raised above her head, and she brought the hook side of the blade down on the walker's head.

THROK!

The hook slammed into the walker's skull and it went limp suddenly, Glenn shoved the dead corpse away from him, and gasped for air.

"Oh, God, Glenn," Maggie wept as she knelt beside her fiancé.

"You guys all right in there?" Tyreese asked worriedly as he pointed his flashlight in the cell's direction.

Glenn, breathing heavily, pulled off his right gauntlet and rubbed his neck. "I'm good. I'm good," he said excitedly. "The suit stopped that walker from biting me."

Tears ran down Maggie's eyes, and she threw her arms around Glenn, who blushed as he hugged her in return.

The sounds of dozens of footsteps suddenly echoed through the tombs, followed by a large growl. Tyreese looked down the hallway and gasped at the sight of dozens of shadowy figures staggering towards him, their yellow eyes burning with anger.

"Walkers!" Tyreese shouted.

Glenn put his gauntlet back on, grabbed his flashlight and the submachine gun, while Maggie took Glenn's machete, and they both ran out of the cell, while leaving behind Maggie's flashlight on the cell's floor and her machete stuck atop the dead walker's head.

Tyreese swung his framing hammer and struck the nearest walker, sending the walker's teeth flying across the hallway while it fell to the floor.

Glenn checked to see that the submachine gun's safety was deactivated and he took aim at the approaching walkers.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

The front line of walkers fell to the floor dead, but the ones behind stepped over them and staggered forward.

"Let's go!" Maggie shouted as she strained to lift the duffle bag, now crammed with guns.

Glenn and Tyreese fell back, with Tyreese stopping to take the duffle bag from Maggie and sling it over his shoulder.

"Run!" Glenn shouted, waving for Maggie and Tyreese to hurry.

Maggie and Tyreese ran past Glenn, who fired another burst of 9mm bullets at the walkers. Several more walkers fell dead, but the rest were getting angrier and closer.

"Look for the arrows!" Glenn shouted as he aimed his flashlight at the top of the hallway, "they'll lead you back!"

Maggie and Tyreese glanced at the white arrow highlighted by the flashlight's beam, and ran back to Cell Block C. Glenn covered the retreat, firing a few bursts, then running to catch up. The remaining walkers continued after them.

Maggie and Tyreese continued following the arrows to Cell Block C, but they stopped at the sight of four walkers stagger from around a corner and come towards them. Maggie swung the machete and decapitated one walker, and brought the machete down on the head of another, killing it. Tyreese, carrying the heavy duffle bag with ease, swung his framing hammer, and killed the last two walkers.

"Glenn!" Maggie shouted as she looked down the dark hallway.

A bobbing light appeared and grew larger with each second, followed by running footsteps. Maggie realized it was a flashlight and she smiled despite the discomfort of having a light shined in her face.

"I'm all right, but I'm out of ammo!" Glenn said as he came to a stop beside Maggie.

"Is this the way out?" Tyreese asked, pointing his flashlight down a hallway.

Glenn aimed his flashlight at the top of the hallway and recognized the white arrow as the first one he spray-painted in the tombs. "Yeah! Let's go before those walkers catch up!"

Glenn, Maggie, and Tyreese ran down the hallway, the two remaining flashlights revealed the barred door with a dim light emitting from the anteroom. The three crashed into the door and their fists pounded on the bars, while the growls from the remaining walkers echoed from far away.

"Karen, open the damn door!" Tyreese shouted.

The door suddenly opened and Glenn, Maggie, and Tyreese fell into the anteroom. Karen closed the door and locked it, keeping any walkers that might've followed them from getting into Cell Block C.

Glenn and Maggie sat up, tore off their gauntlets and helmets, and hugged each other as they panted for breath. Tyreese sat up, dropped the heavy duffle bag to the floor, pulled off his knit cap, and sighed with relief that he and his companions had survived.

"Ty…Tyreese," Karen wept as she knelt down and hugged the former football player.

"Hey, I'm glad to see you too," Tyreese joked as he patted Karen's back.

Karen let go of Tyreese and helped him to his feet. "Did you guys find any guns?" she asked.

"A few," Glenn answered as he pointed at the duffle bag.

Karen looked down at the duffle bag, almost bursting with various models of rifles and submachine guns. "Good work," she said.

"Thanks," Glenn panted as he and Maggie stood up.

"Don't mention it," Tyreese said as he ran a forearm across his sweaty brow.

"Just promise me none of you are going in there again," Karen asked.

"Hey, that's one promise I can keep," Tyreese chuckled nervously.

"Twice was enough for me," Glenn replied with a wave of his hand.

Maggie, her breath more relaxed, looked at the door that led to the common room. "Glenn, can you take care of the guns?" she asked.

"Yeah," Glenn nodded.

"Good, because I need to see if Beth's all right," Maggie said as she opened the door. She was surprised to see her little sister waiting for her along with their father, Rick, Carl, and Judith. Beth looked up when she heard the door open and gasped when she saw Maggie standing in the doorway.

"Maggie!" Beth cried as she jumped out of her chair and ran towards her big sister. Maggie had barely stepped into the common room when Beth threw her arms around her in spite of the riot armor, and hugged her tightly. Maggie hugged Beth in return and both sisters started to cry tears of joy.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

Vietnam veteran John Boyd had a smirk on his face as he and Floyd Townsend walked towards Cell Block D, but once he stepped inside the vestibule, he let out a boisterous laugh and slapped the retired postal worker on the back.

"Did you see that idiot leap into the field?" John asked.

"Yeah," Floyd answered, as he adjusted his heavily framed glasses.

"Standing in front of an oncoming vehicle," John grinned as he shook his head in amazement, "is that what they taught him in the police academy?"

"The plan worked, didn't it?" Floyd asked irritably.

"Yeah, the plan worked, I just hope Officer Grimes doesn't have another one in his log book that could get me and my wife killed."

John opened the barred door and he and Floyd stepped into the common room, where they and their fellow Woodburians had spent the night when they moved into the prison. Donna Floyd was sitting at one of the tables, but when she saw her husband, she smiled with relief that he was all right.

"John, we heard gunfire," Donna said as she walked over to her husband.

"Nothing to worry about, hon," John smiled as he held up a calming hand. "Me and Sasha had to kill some of the walkers along the fence line."

"Are Rick and his people all right?" Donna asked.

"Yeah, they're fine," John answered as he slipped his arm around Donna's shoulders. "Merle's little brother, Michonne, and that mousy woman drove off to do whatever the hell they needed to do."

"Are they coming back?"

"I didn't ask and they didn't say," John answered.

"What do we do now?"

John and Donna walked deeper into the common room; both were careful to not step on the dozens of sleeping bags and personal items strewn about the floor. Floyd sat down in an empty chair, and placed his aluminum baseball bat down on the table.

"'What do we do now?' Fall in!" John answered.

The Woodburians —men, women, and children—looked at each other doubtfully.

"Fall in!" John repeated.

The Woodburians ran to form a single line like a group of army recruits.

"Oh, God," Donna muttered in embarrassment as she covered her face with her hand.

John ignored Donna's statement, and he stepped away from his wife, adjusted the matted Atlanta Braves cap on his head, and faced the line of Woodburians.

"All right, ladies and gentlemen. I hope you all had a good night's sleep, because we've got a lot of work to do."

The Woodburians turned their heads slightly and looked at each other worriedly.

"The first thing we have to do," John said as he began walking up and down the line like an army drill sergeant, "is open up the door to the cell block and start dragging those poor dead bastards outside."

The Woodburians murmured in agreement.

"And after that, we're going to leave that door open so we can get some fresh air in this goddamn place!"

The Woodburians laughed and a few applauded.

"Rick Grimes said this cell block is safe, so after we drag out the dead, we'll find some mops and buckets, and make this place cleaner than Alice's kitchen on the Brady Bunch!"

All the Woodburians laughed and applauded this time.

"Finally, in case you didn't hear me tell Donna, I'll repeat that Merle's little brother and his lady friends flew the coop. I don't know if they're coming back or not, but if they do, they have to go through those walkers again. So I expect Rick and his group will do some target practice very soon."

"How many walkers are in the field?" a blonde woman asked.

"Alicia, there's enough walkers in the field to make a football team and throw around the pigskin. Hell, they can't be any worse than the Cleveland Browns."

The sports fans amongst the Woodburians chuckled at John's joke about Cleveland's struggling football team.

"Are Rick and his group going to shoot them?" a scholarly man wearing wire rimmed glasses asked.

"Why, Michael, I thought you hated guns," John said with a grin.

"I do, but there's just one chain link fence between us and the walkers." Michael explained.

"The only guns I've seen have been the ones Rick and his group were carrying when they brought us here. But if there was any firepower left when they took this prison, you can bet your ass they've got them under lock and key."

"If Rick has guns, will he give them to us?" a man with receding grey hair asked.

"Whoa! Hold up, cowboy," John said, his hands raised ups to signal a halt. "Did you participate in Martinez's shooting lessons?"

The man chuckled in surprise. "Christ, John, it was only one day."

"Yes or no," John asked coldly.

The man gulped with fear. "Yes," he answered.

"Do you remember anything from it? I don't want to hand you a gun and see you shoot your foot off."

The man blushed and lowered his head in embarrassment. "Well, I…I don't remember much."

"Did you hear that, ladies and gentlemen?" John asked the line of Woodburians. "Sam Dunbar 'don't' remember much from his shooting lessons. That's why Sam is not going to get a gun, because an asshole with a gun is the most dangerous weapon on the face of God's green earth!"

The silence in the common room got heavier and Sam's complexion got redder. Finally, a sturdy man with calloused hands and curly, grey hair stepped out of line and faced the Vietnam veteran. "Will you relax, John? We're all that's left of Woodbury, and we're either too old or too young for you to treat us like this!"

The former soldier dropped his stone expression and he took off his cap and ran a hand across his grey crewcut. "Goddamn, Eddie Nowak. For a Polack, you're bright as a bulb."

Eddie glared at John for a moment and said, "Thanks."

John slapped his cap back onto his head and looked at the line of Woodburians. "My apologies, Ladies and Gentlemen. When you sign up with the army, the fine print reads that you'll always be a solider, and I'm afraid that's right.

"After Karen told us that lying bastard Governor killed our people, I've been kicking myself in the ass for listening to him when he said I should go out to pasture. Maybe if I had joined Merle's security team, that massacre wouldn't have happened, and we'd be having a barbeque in Woodbury. But this prison is our home now, and Rick Grimes is our host. All we can do is chip in and keep this prison secure, because if it falls, there's nowhere for us to run to."

John's sincerity touched the Woodburians and they applauded him. Donna had tears in her eyes as she walked over to her husband and embraced him. John blushed, but he embraced his wife in return.

"Okay people, the man told us what we need to do, so let's get started!" Eddie cheered.

The Woodburians cheered in agreement. John dug into his pocket, took out the set of keys Rick had given him last night, and unlocked the cellblock door. The men walked inside and they began to drag the corpses of the executed prisoners out into the courtyard, while the women and children wrapped up the sleeping bags and beddings.

"Good speech, dear. Maybe now you'll try to be like Dr. Phil instead of Gunny R. Lee Ermey," Donna joked.

John chuckled. "If any Goddamn marine could survive this shit, it would have to be him."

Donna patted her husband's shoulder and left to gather up their sleeping bags. Floyd returned from opening the vestibule door and walked over to John.

"How does it look outside?" John asked.

Floyd watched two men carry a corpse out into the courtyard and looked back at John. "Pretty much the same; the walkers go about like they're in Piedmont Park." Floyd chuckled nervously. "Ever been to Piedmont Park? It was on my route with the post office. I can't believe my biggest fear used to be getting bit on the ass by a Rottweiler."

"Well, those bastards out there can give you the worst case of rabies you'll ever have." John said.

"No shit. If Rick asks me to help kill those things,

John snorted in contempt, and Floyd placed his hands on his hips in an attempt to intimidate the Vietnam veteran.

"Is something wrong?" Floyd asked.

"Yeah, Rick Grimes," John answered.

"What's wrong with him?"

"He's a boy scout," John spat.

"Excuse me. I forgot that having a moral compass was a problem with you soldier boys."

"Hey, don't piss in my cornflakes, buddy," John grinned. "We both worked for Uncle Sam, didn't we?"

Floyd waved a hand dismissively. "But not in the same job. The bottom line is, from what I've seen of Rick Grimes, he's all right by me."

"We all thought the same about the Governor, and look how he turned out," John warned.

A chill ran through Floyd's body. He glanced at two men who were carrying a corpse out to the courtyard and he stepped closer to John. "What are you saying?" he whispered.

"I'm saying what's obvious; we put our lives in the hands of one man, and he went crazy with power. Who's to say it won't happen again?"

"John. I think…I think you're getting a little paranoid here," Floyd said worriedly.

"Hell no, I'm being careful," John said. "Remember what I told everyone about this prison; 'If it falls, there's no place for us to go.'" We've got to keep an eye on Rick, because if he turns into the next Governor, we'll have to kill him."

•••

In Cell Block C, Maggie and Beth Greene—both still wiping tears from their eyes—walked across the common room and out the side door and onto the courtyard, with their father Hershel hobbling behind them on his crutches. Rick watched them leave and glanced down at Judith, who was beginning to awaken in his arms.

"Looks like your little sister's naptime is over," Rick joked to his son Carl.

"I'll get her some formula," Carl said as he stood up from his chair.

On the other side of the common room, Glenn, Tyreese, and Karen stepped out of the anteroom; Karen closed the door and locked it. Glenn was struggling to carry a duffle bag laden with guns, but he was grinning broadly.

"Rick! We did it! We did it!" Glenn shouted happily.

Rick smiled and held Judith carefully as he stood up from his chair. "Perfect! Bring them here!"

Glenn had barely taken two steps when the duffle bag's weight started to take its toll on his right shoulder and posture. Tyreese stepped alongside him and put a hand on Glenn's chest, making him stop in his shaky tracks.

"Hey, let me take it," Tyreese offered.

Glenn chuckled nervously and offered Tyreese the duffle bag's shoulder strap. "If you insist," he said as his arms trembled.

Tyreese took the duffle bag's shoulder strap with one hand and effortlessly slipped it onto his right shoulder while Glenn's exhausted arms fell to his side. Tyreese and Karen continued on to Rick's table while Glenn sighed with exhaustion.

"Carl, can you put Judith in her crib and watch her?" Rick asked.

Carl huffed in frustration, knowing that the cleanout of the walkers in the field was going to start soon and his father had refused to let him help. Carl took Judith into his arms and left the common room through the open cellblock door.

Tyreese put the heavy duffle bag on the table and stood back. Rick leaned over the duffle bag, opened it wider, and looked at the rifles and submachine guns stuffed inside it.

"Did you have any trouble?" Rick asked the three volunteers.

"Oh yeah," Tyreese admitted as the memory of walkers staggering towards him in the tombs ran through his mind.

"How many walkers did you kill?" Rick asked.

"A lot," Glenn answered as he stood across the table from Rick. "I don't think the ones left in the tombs will bother us anytime soon."

"Uh, Rick? Do you need me to stick around?" Tyreese asked. "I'd really like to see Sasha if that's cool with you."

"Sure," Rick said. "She's on sentry duty; Maggie, Beth, and Hershel are with her."

"Thanks," Tyreese smiled as he began to walk towards the side door leading to the courtyard.

"Tyreese!" Karen called as she ran to catch up to the former football player.

"Yeah?" Tyreese asked.

"Do you…mind if I come with you?" Karen asked hopefully.

"Sure," Tyreese smiled as he put his arm around Karen's shoulder. "I know Sasha will be happy to see you too."

Rick and Glenn watched as Tyreese and Karen step out into the courtyard and closed the side door behind them. "Are those two a couple now?" Rick asked the young Korean.

Glenn chuckled. "I think so. It's kind of like how me and Maggie started out at Hershel's farm."

Rick chuckled too, remembering the farm and its hypnotic lure of security. Did the prison have the same teasing call? It had fences and strong walls, land to plant crops, and he had used the walkers in the tombs to drive away the Governor, but how could he not worry that history would repeat itself?

 _No,_ Rick thought. He wouldn't let it happen again. He wouldn't lose the prison. Carl, Judith, the group, and the survivors from Woodbury were counting on him. He'd keep the prison secure, even if it meant making the hard decisions that Shane always warned he couldn't make.

"Rick?" Glenn called out worriedly.

The voice pulled Rick out of his thoughts and he saw Glenn looking at him worriedly. "Yeah?" Rick asked.

"I was just talking about the time me and you drove out to Patton's Bar to bring back Hershel, and I told you that Maggie said she loves me, but I didn't tell her I love her back, and—"

"Let's take a look at these guns," Rick interrupted as he pulled an M4A1 rifle out of the duffle bag.

"Uh…sure," Glenn said awkwardly.

Rick aimed the rifle at the floor, looked down the iron sight, ejected the magazine, examined it, and put it back in the magazine well.

"Fully loaded," Rick told Glenn as he slid the rifle back into the duffle bag.

"Uh…that's good," Glenn said.

Rick next pulled the AKM assault rifle out of the duffle bag, and repeated the aiming and magazine check. "Half empty," he told Glenn.

"Uh…that's bad," Glenn said.

Rick slipped the rifle back into the duffle bag, ran a hand through his hair, and stared at the guns again in contemplation.

"So are these enough guns to put the walkers down?" Glenn asked.

"Definitely," Rick nodded.

Glenn nodded in return. "So when do we, you know…put them down?"

"Now," Rick answered as he picked up the duffle bag and slipped it over his shoulder. "But I have one last thing to ask of you."

Glenn smiled and stood straighter. "Name it," he said immediately.

"Find a glass bottle, a rag, and fill it with gasoline." Rick said.

"What? You want me to make a Molotov cocktail?!" A startled Glenn asked.

"Yeah. We're going to light it, throw it over the fence, and distract the walkers with the fire before we step onto that field again. We can't risk damaging the fence with gunfire and we need to put some distance between us and the walkers before we open fire."

"No problem," Glenn said as Rick started walking towards the side door. "But who's going to be on the shooting line?"

Rick opened the side door and stood in the doorway as he looked at Glenn. "I was thinking me, you, Maggie, Sasha, and that vet from Woodbury…John Boyd."

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

Sasha had begun sentry duty by walking along the fence line, the Heckler & Koch MP5A2 submachine gun in her hands was set on "F" and her right index finger rested on the trigger guard. She walked a few steps, turn, and retraced her steps as she kept a modest pace and watched the fence line, but caught sight of a walker on the other side of the fence and she stopped in her tracks.

The walker wore a torn, soiled business suit; its tie was loose and hung low like he had stepped out of a dive bar, its expensive haircut was matted and dirty, and its skin was pale and pieces of it had flecked away like paint. Unlike the other walkers, this one wasn't hissing or gripping the chain link fence, instead it kept its bloodstained hands and its side, and its bloodstained mouth was shut tightly. Its yellow eyes stared at Sasha intently.

Sasha walked over to the fence.

The businessman walker didn't react as Sasha came closer, but its companions began to growl and rattle the chain link fence.

Sasha stood face to face with the businessman walker. The minutes ticked by and Sasha didn't notice the other walkers' mad behavior or the echoes of gunfire coming from within Cell Block C, she just stared into the businessman walker's yellow, unblinking eyes, and it stared back.

"Sasha!" a familiar voice shouted from behind her.

The voice hit Sasha like a jolt of static electricity. She spun around and saw Maggie—in riot armor—and Beth walking towards her; Maggie had a concerned look on her face, and Beth walked alongside her big sister, and wiped tears away from her eyes. A few moments later Sasha saw Hershel, on his crutches, hobbling behind his two daughters. Sasha ran towards the Greene's and the businessman walker watched her run away while its companions settled down.

"What were you doing?" Maggie asked as Sasha approached, "is the fence starting to give?"

"No. No. The fence is fine," Sasha promised. "Where's Tyreese? Is he all right?"

"He's okay," Maggie answered as her father hobbled to her left side. "Glenn's okay too."

Sasha wept tears of joy and she put her left arm around Maggie's neck and hugged her in spite of the riot suit. "Oh, thank God," she wept onto Maggie's shoulder.

Maggie, who just minutes before had an emotional reunion with Beth, smiled softly, put her arms around Sasha, and hugged her back.

Sasha separated from Maggie and wiped away her tears as she took a step back. The guns, did you find any of them?"

"Oh, we found a few," Maggie nodded.

"I…I should've been the one who went in the tombs with you guys," Sasha admitted. "My brother had my back from Florida to this prison, and I thanked him by sending him into the tombs."

Maggie shook her head. "No. You thought Tyreese could help us…and he did."

Sasha smiled and wiped a tear from her eye. "Thank you," she said.

"Were the walkers any trouble?" Hershel asked as he hobbled over to Maggie's left side.

"No," Sasha answered as she looked back at the courtyard's fence line. "A few walkers came out of the woods and joined the ones in the field, but they haven't been any trouble."

"They will be soon enough," Hershel said as he looked at the walkers. "They've got enough weight behind that fence they could knock it down if their dander fires up."

"We've got to put them down now," Maggie said firmly.

"Absolutely," Sasha agreed as she stared again at the businessman walker, which stared back along with the other walkers along the courtyard fence.

At Maggie's right side, Beth shivered. She remembered the barn massacre from a year ago. Shane broke the chains on the barn doors and the walkers—the family and neighbors who were bit and turned—staggered outside and were gunned down by Shane and the others.

Beth had gone into shock over the barn massacre, and when she recovered, failed to convince Maggie into a suicide pact. Encouraged by Andrea, she tried to commit suicide on her own, but she couldn't drive the shard of glass deep enough into her wrist, and her father sewed the wound up.

Since that day, Beth accepted that her mother, her brother Shawn, the other people in the barn, and all the others who ate the living were not sick, but in fact, dead.

Beth continued her gun training during the group's nomadic winter, but she never killed any walkers; that changed when Rick and Daryl found the prison, and Rick resolved to take it. Beth shot a few walkers as the group cleared the field. She couldn't remember how many; she didn't bother to count; it wasn't a game. She may have been naïve on the farm, but she had matured enough to know that. Now, Maggie was practically announcing that she'd help kill the walkers out in the field, and for Beth, who had cried over her big sister's insistence on going into the tombs, it was an announcement that she couldn't handle.

"Dad," Beth said meekly, "I don't want to shoot those walkers."

Hershel—along with Maggie and Sasha—looked at Beth.

Hershel hobbled over to Beth and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "It's all right, Beth."

"Thank you, Dad," Beth whispered.

Maggie walked over to Sasha and they both looked at the walkers on the other side of the fence. "How do you think we should handle this?" she asked.

Sasha huffed as she studied the chain-link fence. "Well, we can distract the walkers again while two of us slip through the fence—"

"Maggie, I don't want you to shoot those walkers either," Beth interrupted.

Maggie huffed irritably; she and Beth had argued over going into the tombs earlier, now it seemed they were about to argue again.

"It's all right, Beth," Hershel said reassuringly, "Maggie's just trying to help the group."

Beth shook her head. "But Rick has Glenn, and Sasha—"

"That's true," Hershel nodded, "but we need to take that field back. Daryl and Michonne have gone, and Rick needs all the help he can get right now. I'm worried too, but your sister is smart; she'll be careful."

Maggie looked at her family and then she looked at the ground as she considered her father's statement. It was true that she was always willing to contribute for the group, but she not only just survived an attack from walkers, she has also seen one of them nearly bite Glenn.

 _If Glenn wasn't wearing that suit..._

 _If we panicked and got lost in the tombs like last time..._

 _Helping Rick put down those walkers will only make Beth more upset._

 _Daryl and Michonne aren't back yet. Someone has to step up for the group._

"Maggie?" Beth asked meekly.

Maggie looked at Beth, and saw her little sister with her hands clasped together, patiently waiting for an answer to her plea.

"I…I don't…," Maggie stumbled.

Beth held her breath, as Maggie struggled to make her decision.

Maggie sighed and looked at Beth. "I've got to help put down those walkers."

Beth's eyes widened, her mouth dropped open, and her hands fell to her sides. The shock wore off quickly and her hands balled into fists and her eyes blazed with anger.

"Fine! Good luck with getting yourself killed this time!" Beth shouted angrily.

Beth turned around and stomped past Cell Block C, and the school bus parked across from it, and went around the corner. Hershel silently followed his young daughter, the tips of his crutches scrapping along the courtyard.

Maggie watched the two natural members of her family walk away, and felt hot tears running down her face; she wiped the tears away and next she felt Sasha's hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Sasha said. "You don't have to do this. Go talk to Beth and—"

"No," Maggie interrupted. "We've all got jobs to do."

•••

The side door to Cell Block C swung open and Tyreese and Karen stepped outside. They quickly saw Sasha and Maggie, talking to each other.

"Sasha!" Tyreese shouted as he waved his hand.

Sasha turned around, saw her big brother, and smiled brightly. A second later she ran towards him and threw her arms around his neck.

"Tyreese! Thank God!" Sasha cried as she hugged her brother.

Tyreese smiled and hugged Sasha in return. "Hi, sis," he said.

"I'm sorry, Tyreese," Sasha cried as her tears soaked into her brother's pullover shirt. "I should've gone with Maggie and Glenn."

Tyreese put his hands on Sasha's shoulders and gently eased her back. "Sis, I'm okay. Everyone's okay. Forget about it."

Sasha wiped her tears away and nodded in agreement.

"Rick and Glenn are looking the guns over. They'll be here any minute," Karen said.

"Okay. Are you a good shot, Karen?" Maggie asked.

Karen shrugged. "I'd say I'm fair. Martinez didn't curse me out as badly as he did the others."

Maggie nodded approvingly. "Think you can help us put down those walkers?"

Karen glanced at the walkers along the fence and looked at Maggie. "I think so."

Maggie touched Karen's upper arm. "Thank you," she said.

"Count me out," Tyreese said, waving his hands in refusal.

Sasha looked dumbfounded at her brother. "Tyreese, what's—"

"I've done my share for one day and I'm sitting this one out," Tyreese interrupted as he walked over to the aluminum bleachers, sat on the bottom row, and stared at the pavement.

Sasha, Maggie, and Karen exchanged worried glances and walked over to Tyreese. Sasha placed her H&K MP5A2 submachine gun on the bottom row near Tyreese, and sat down beside her brother.

"What's wrong?" Sasha asked as she put her hand on Tyreese's shoulder.

"Nothing. I'm just through killing for one day," Tyreese answered.

"We'll be killing walkers, not people," Maggie said.

"So get to it and leave me the hell alone," Tyreese said curtly.

"Tyreese, back in Woodbury we killed walkers when we had sentry duty," Karen said.

"You did; you, Sasha, Martinez, and Shumpert!" Tyreese corrected angrily. "The one time I shot a walker it took me four or five shots to kill it."

"So you're a bad shot, so what?" Sasha asked. "All you need is practice. I never held a gun until we got to Woodbury, and I think I'm—"

"Then **you** shoot them," Tyreese interrupted. "I'm done killing walkers today, and I'd only waste bullets if I tried to kill more. I'm done!"

Sasha watched Tyreese, but there was no hate or embarrassment in her eyes, only understanding. "All right," she said as she squeezed her brother's shoulder gently.

•••

The side door to Cell Block C opened and Rick—with the duffel bag laden with guns— stepped out into the courtyard; he quickly noticed the group at the aluminum bleachers and walked over to them.

"I've got the guns," Rick said as he raised the duffle bag for emphasis.

Maggie looked past Rick and saw that Glenn wasn't with him. "Where's Glenn?" she asked.

"Getting the ingredients for a Molotov cocktail," Rick answered as he set the duffle bag on the ground.

Maggie laughed, "Are you kidding?"

"No," Rick said. "We'll throw the Molotov cocktail over the fence and while the walkers gather around the fire, we'll slip through the fence, form a firing line, and put them down."

"Will it work?" Karen asked.

"Fire moves, it breathes, and the walkers' are attracted to that. It'll work," Rick answered.

"Uh, Rick," Tyreese said, still looking at the ground. "I'm going to have to bail on this one."

Rick looked at Maggie, Sasha, and Karen, for a clue as to Tyreese's behavior, but they just turned away. Rick then he looked at Tyreese and asked, "What?"

"Killing those walkers," Tyreese explained as he looked up at Rick. "I want no part of it. I'm done for today."

Rick nodded slowly and put his hands on his hips. "Well, I hadn't thought of asking, Tyreese, but if that's how you feel, I understand."

"No. I don't think you do," Tyreese said curtly.

Rick glared at Tyreese for a moment and looked at looked at the women again. "Any volunteers?" he asked.

"Me," Karen said as she stepped forward.

"No offense, but can you shoot?"

Karen knelt down in front of the duffel bag, and pulled out an M4A1 rifle. "I shoot just fine if they stand still."

"Count me in," Sasha said as she picked up her submachine gun and stood up.

"Me too," Maggie said as she stepped forward.

Rick looked around the courtyard and then he looked at Maggie. "Where are Hershel and Beth?" he asked.

Maggie shifted her posture nervously. "Uh… was about to tell Beth that I was going to help put down the walkers so she, uh…threw a fit and stomped off."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Maggie answered as she pointed at Cell Block C, "They're behind the cell block, Beth's probably crying on dad's shoulder right now."

Rick looked past Cell Block C for a moment and breathed deeply. "Maggie," he said as he looked at the young woman, "you should go talk to Beth."

Maggie shook her head in disbelief. "Rick, I'm a good shot. I can help you."

"I know," Rick nodded, "but your sister needs you more."

Maggie began to protest, but she stopped, looked at Cell Block C, and tears welled up in her eyes. A moment later she looked at Rick, nodded in agreement, and walked after Beth.

"All right, Sasha. Karen. Stay here," Rick ordered. "I'm going to see if I can get us some help."

•••

Hershel hobbled around the corner of Cell Block C, and found Beth, leaning against the wall, with her hands folded across her chest and staring out into space.

"Beth?" Hershel asked softly.

Beth looked at her father, with a blank expression on her face. "Aren't you surprised I'm not crying like a baby, Dad?" she asked.

"No," Hershel answered.

Beth looked straight ahead again and sighed wearily. "I…I can't cry anymore, Dad. I'm sick of it. If Maggie wants to keep risking her life, she can go right ahead. I'm not going to cry when she gets bit by one of those walkers."

Hershel hobbled over to Beth and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Don't say that, because you'll regret it if that did happen to your sister."

Beth looked at her father again and this time, her bluster crumbled and she faced her father, embraced him, and wept onto his shoulder. Hershel let his left crutch fall to the pavement and he wrapped his left arm around Beth, and hugged her in return.

•••

Rick walked towards Cell Block D and saw the pile of corpses outside the vestibule doorway. Two older men—carrying a dead prisoner—carefully stepped out of the cell block,

walked towards the pile, and placed the body on it with all the care their weary limbs could muster. The two men, panting, straightened their backs and wiped the sweat from their brows, when the taller man saw Rick coming towards them he patted his shorter friend on the shoulder and pointed at the group's leader.

"Hello, Rick," the tall man said cheerfully.

"Hi, Rick," the short man said in a Latino accent.

"Hello," Rick said.

Rick stopped walking and looked at the pile of corpses, all of them wearing the prison issued blue overalls, and all of them with a bullet wound in the back of the head, shot execution style. Rick thought back to the nursing home in Atlanta that the Vatos gang protected; he led the group there after the CDC exploded with the hope the gang would give them temporary shelter, but he was shocked to discover the nursing home had been overrun by walkers. Rick and the group cleared part of the building so they could sleep there for the night, but it was Daryl who pointed out that the Vatos and the residents had all been shot in the head execution style. Minutes later Rick and Shane checked the kitchen and dispensary and found it had been looted. Glenn had asked aloud who could've killed all those people, and Rick privately wondered the same thing: was it a rival gang? A mob; where they rogue police officers, or even rogue soldiers?

Now, Rick thought of who could've executed these prisoners and why: was it the guards? Was it a group of prisoners who got their hands on some guns? Did they execute these prisoners because they panicked and believed the prisoners would die and turn? Or did they execute the prisoners because they were afraid they'd escape? Whatever the reasons for the murders at the nursing home and the prison, Rick had to accept that he'd never know the truth.

"Rick?" the tall man asked.

Rick snapped out of his thoughts and looked at the man; who, aside from being thin, had receding gray hair. The Latino man had graying hair at his temples, and walking alongside his partner.

"I'm Henry Matheson," the tall man said, "this illegal son of a bitch is Juan Zavala."

"Beso mi culo, gringo," Juan grinned.

Rick grinned along with the two men. "Hello. Pleasure to meet you both."

Henry and Juan extended their right hands, and Rick shook them.

"Thank you for bringing our group here," Juan said, "we wouldn't have lasted too long on our own."

Henry nodded in agreement. "Most of the adults in our group are retirees; everyone called us a burden even **before** the world went to shit. Back in Woodbury, the younger generation kept up the walls and went out for supplies; all we did was catching up on our reading or play checkers or dominoes."

"It pissed John Boyd off something awful," Juan snickered.

"Don't sell yourselves short," Rick said encouragingly. "Hershel's about your age, Henry, and he's been invaluable to my group. You both must have a skill that can help all of us."

Herny and Juan glanced at each other and looked back at Rick.

"I was a construction foreman," Henry said.

"Handyman," Juan said.

"That's perfect," Rick said. "We need to rebuild those guard towers. Do you think we can do that, Henry?"

Henry looked at the four towers whose guard boxes had been blown apart by Martinez's grenade launcher during the Governor's attack. Henry considered the task, rubbed his chin and said, "Yeah. Yeah we can. We just need to find some materials and—"

"Henry! Juan! What are you two goldbricks doing out there?!" a voice boomed from inside Cell Block D.

Henry and Juan, along with Rick, turned and looked at the open doorway to Cell Block D; a moment later John Boyd marched angrily outside, but when the Vietnam veteran saw Rick he smiled and placed his hands on his hips.

"Hello, Rick. Here to help us move in?" John asked.

"Not exactly," Rick answered.

John walked down the staircase and approached Rick; along the way he glanced at Henry and Juan and said "We need you boys in the cell block; somebody tried to lift a heavy son of a bitch and his back gave out."

Henry and Juan glanced and each other and walked reluctantly towards the doorway to Cell Block D.

"Ain't this a sorry sight?" John asked aloud as he stared at the pile of corpses in the courtyard.

"I've seen worse," Rick answered flatly.

"Still, I suppose an officer of the law can't be too broken up over a bunch of convicts that got their brains blown out."

Rick stared in disbelief at John. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked.

John shrugged. "Nothing, I'm just trying to be friendly."

"Well, I don't like how you're going about it."

"I'm sorry," John said coldly. "What can I do to make it up to you?"

Rick thumbed over his back. "I need your help putting down those walkers in the field."

John's eyes lit up. "No shit?"

Rick nodded. "Glenn led a group into the tombs and brought back some of the guns the Governor's army dropped. I need an extra gun on the firing line, so are you interested?"

John grinned. "Is the Pope catholic?"

Rick turned around and walked towards his group at the aluminum benches. "Come on," he ordered.

•••

Maggie could hear Beth crying as she neared the edge of Cell Block C. She peaked around the corner, and saw Beth crying on their father's shoulder as he hugged her and leaned on his one leg.

"Beth?" Maggie asked quietly.

Beth opened her eyes and saw Maggie, step out from behind the Cell Block.

"Mag…Maggie?" Beth whispered in disbelief.

Maggie smiled and walked over to her family; she picked up her father's crutch, and returned it to him when he and Beth broke apart.

"You…you said you were going to put those walkers," Beth said.

A tear ran down Maggie's eye and she brushed it away. "I'm not," she replied.

Beth tilted her head in confusion. "Why?" she asked.

Maggie reached out her left hand and cupped Beth's cheek. "Because you asked me not to."

Beth smiled and she put her arms around Maggie and hugged her tightly in spite of the riot armor. "Thank you," she cried joyfully.

Maggie slipped her arms around Beth and embraced her in return.

Hershel—with his crutches underneath his arms again—hobbled over to his two daughters. "I'm glad to see you both decided to turn the other cheek."

The two sisters laughed and when they separated, Maggie shook her head in disbelief. "Please, Dad, don't turn this into a Sunday school lesson."

"I won't…if you two promise to treat each other better," Hershel bargained.

"Deal," Maggie said as she embraced her father.

"Deal,"Beth smiled.

Hershel and Maggie separated, and he looked in the direction of the prison courtyard. "Rick and the others will be putting those walkers down soon. I don't want you girls to see that."

"Thanks, Dad," Beth said, as she fearfully wrapped her arms around herself.

"Yeah, I…I don't want to see that at all," Maggie said.

Hershel hobbled towards his daughters and stood in between them. Maggie and Beth each put an arm around his waist and the three of them looked up at the clear, blue sky.

•••

Rick and John approached Sasha and Karen, both of whom were standing beside the duffel bag. Tyreese was still sitting on the aluminum bleachers and still staring at the pavement.

"Are you two ready?" Rick asked Sasha and Karen.

Sasha and Karen nodded.

"All right," Rick said, he knelt down and pulled an M4A1 rifle out of the duffle bag.

"What's your malfunction?" John asked Tyreese.

"I'm not killing anymore walkers today," Tyreese answered without looking up.

John looked around the courtyard. "Do I hear violins?" he asked mockingly.

"Hey," Sasha said as she stepped forward and pointed a finger at John, "shut up."

"I was only kidding, for Christ's sake," John grinned as he raised his hands in a halting gesture.

"Rick, do we really need this guy?" Sasha asked the group's leader.

"Yes, we do," Rick said as he gave John a contemptuous glance.

John gave Sasha a mocking salute, and then he bent down and pulled the AKM assault rifle out of the duffel bag.

"That's half empty," Rick said as he pointed to the AKM's magazine.

"No problem, I still have this baby," John grinned as he patted the Colt 1911 pistol holstered on his hip.

"Rick!" Glenn called out happily as he ran outside from the side door to Cell Block C.

"Yeah?" Rick asked.

"I found one!" Glenn said as he ran towards the group while waving a glass bottle with a silk handkerchief stuck in its mouth. "I found a glass bottle!"

Rick smiled at Glenn's exuberance. "Good work."

"Thanks," Glenn said as he reached the group. "I checked the administration wing and I found this atop one of the desks."

Rick took the bottle and examined the label: Southern Comfort Whiskey; the bottle was half empty. "Whoever owned this bottle must've drunk it to work up the nerve to opt out," Rick joked.

"He chose a gruesome way to go," Glenn said, "the window was wide open and when I looked outside it I saw a body lying on the pavement with its head split open and—"

"Okay! We get the picture!" Karen interrupted angrily.

"Uh, sorry, guys," Glenn apologized meekly.

Rick tapped Glenn on the chest to get his attention and pointed at the duffel bag on the ground. "Pick one," the sheriff's deputy told the young Korean.

Glenn reached into the duffle bag and pulled out an AR-15 rifle. He held the weapon in his hands nervously, and then he began to look around the courtyard. "Where's Maggie? Where's Hershel and Beth?" he asked.

Rick pointed at Cell Block C. "They're behind the cell block."

"Why? What happened?"

"Beth didn't want Maggie to help us," Sasha explained, "she stormed off, and Hershel and Maggie went after her."

"That little girl has more sense than all of you put together," Tyreese said, as he continued to stare at the pavement.

Everyone except Glenn glared at Tyreese, but they said nothing.

Glenn looked in the direction Maggie had gone, and started to follow her, but Rick put a hand on his shoulder.

"No," Rick ordered. "I'm sorry, but I need your help against those walkers."

"Yeah…sure," Glenn said, focusing on the task at hand.

"Karen," Rick said.

The young woman looked at the sheriff's deputy. "Yes?" she asked.

"Can you throw the bottle?" Rick asked, offering Karen the Southern Comfort.

"Sure," Karen nodded as she took the bottle with her left hand.

Rick dug into his jacket pocket, took out a Zippo lighter, and offered it to Karen. "Make sure you throw it far and that it lands on the road; we don't have fire extinguishers to put it out if lands in the field."

"Yeah," Karen said as she took the Zippo lighter.

"Glenn, do you still have the keys to the new locks?" Rick asked.

Glenn dug into his back pocket and produced a keychain with two keys attached it. "I've got them," he answered.

Rick nodded, picked up the duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder. "All right. Glenn, you and John are with me. Sasha, stay here on the fence and distract the walkers. Karen, when I give the word you light the bottle and throw it over the fence and onto the road."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"Sasha," Rick said as he motioned towards the chain-link fence.

Sasha nodded, approached the fence and struck it with the butt of her submachine gun. The walkers growled angrily and she struck the fence again and again.

"Let's go," Rick said as he ran towards the section of fence the group used as an opening; Glenn and John followed him.

Glenn leaned his AR-15 rifle against the fence and started to unlock the chains holding the section of fence in place.

"Are you ready?" Rick asked Glenn as he placed his M4A1 rifle and the duffle bag on the pavement.

"Yeah," Glenn answered as the last lock came loose.

Rick looked at Karen and waved his arm. Karen nodded; she lit the rag, held the bottle in her hand for a few seconds, and threw the bottle over the fence; it flew over the heads of the walkers and landed with a crash; the bottle shattered and the fire it briefly contained spread across the road.

The walkers along the fence line turned around and shuffled towards the growing fire. Rick and Glenn gripped the loose section of fence, and cautiously removed it while John aimed his AKM assault rifle at the distant walkers.

Rick picked up his rifle and slipped the duffel bag over his shoulder. "Come on," he whispered.

Rick ran onto the field, with Glenn and Joe following; Sasha and Karen ran towards the opening in the fence line and joined their companions in the field. The walkers surrounded the fire and growled and swatted at its flames.

Alone in the courtyard, Tyreese stood up and walked towards the side door of Cell Block C.

•••

"All right, form a firing line," Rick ordered as he dropped the duffle bag behind him.

The group followed Rick's orders. The sheriff's deputy was in the center, with Glenn on his right, and Sasha on his left; John and Karen were on either ends of the line.

One of the walkers at the fire turned around and growled at Rick and his four companions. A few seconds later, the rest of walkers were growling at them too.

"Better get ready, kid," John said to Glenn as he brought the AKM assault rifle up to his shoulder.

The walkers now began staggering towards Rick and his companions.

"Remember there're more guns in the duffel bag," Rick said as he tightened his grip on his M4A1, "if you run out of ammunition, call out and one of us will pick up the slack while you get a new rifle. If it looks like we're about to get overrun, run for the opening in the fence, and I'll cover all of you."

"Okay. Just don't stay out here with them," Sasha joked as she aimed down the iron sight of her submachine gun.

Rick nodded at Sasha and brought his rifle up to his shoulder.

The walkers in the front line growled louder and stretched out their arms in anticipation of grabbing one of the four live bodies who had abandoned the protection of the chain link fence.

"Fire!" Rick shouted.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

The first line of walkers fell to the ground with one or more bullet wounds to their heads, but the second line was hit in their chests or stomachs and they struggled to stand up again while their comrades stepped over them and moved forward.

"Shit!" John muttered through clenched teeth as he dropped his empty AKM rifle to the ground and pulled out his Colt 1911 pistol; he thumbed the safety off, and fired at the approaching walkers.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

Three walkers fell backwards as the large .45 ACP slugs struck them right between the eyes, but the walkers behind them stepped over them and kept moving forward.

Sasha was shooting the walkers in front of her until her submachine gun ran empty. "I'm out of ammo!" She shouted.

"Get another rifle, I'll cover you!" Karen shouted.

Sasha dropped her submachine gun and ran towards the duffel bag behind the firing line, while Karen now fired her M4A1 rifle in a wider arc.

The walkers were decreasing in number, but they were also getting closer.

"I'm out!" Rick shouted as he dropped his rifle.

"Get a new gun!" Glenn shouted as he fired his AR-15 rifle at a walker just a few feet away from Rick.

Rick turned around and ran towards the duffel bag. Sasha had just taken an AR-15 rifle and was running back to the firing line. Rick took the M-14 rifle, and he also ran back to the firing line.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

The last of the walkers fell to the ground. Rick and his companions lowered their weapons and gazed in awe at the slaughter they had committed.

"Is everyone all right?" Rick asked as he looked left and right at his companions.

"Yeah," Karen said quietly.

Sasha and Glenn nodded. John gave Rick a thumbs-up.

The group looked again at the walkers lying in the field; those that weren't killed had been crippled by gunfire but were still growling and were stretching their arms out at Rick and his companions.

"I'll handle this," Sasha said coldly as she moved forward with her AR-15 aimed at the ground.

Rick and the others watched as Sasha stepped amongst the fallen walkers and fired a bullet into the foreheads of the crippled few she came across.

BRAKKA!

Moments later the field was silent, but there was one walker on the ground with its arm raised. Sasha stepped over to it and was surprised to see it was the businessman walker she

had been staring at earlier, its torn and soiled suit now stained with dark blood from the many bullet wounds in its chest. The businessman walker shifted its gaze from the clear, blue sky and stared at Sasha; she aimed her rifle at its forehead and pulled the trigger.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

For the Greene's, it was the barn massacre all over again.

Hershel and his daughters had no family members amongst the walkers in the prison's field, and they realized long ago that the dead weren't sick, but the scenario playing out a few feet away was eerily similar to that tragic day last year on the family farm. Hershel—with his arms around Maggie and Beth's shoulders—hugged them tightly.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

The Greene's winced as the automatic and semi-automatic gunfire burst suddenly over the growls of the walkers. They heard the bullets smash into the walkers' heads, and they felt relief when the gunfire and the growls stopped.

"Is…is it over?" Beth asked.

"I believe so," Hershel answered.

Hershel let go of Maggie and Beth. The Greene's stood in a circle again, looking hopefully at each other. A moment later, a gun began to fire intermittently.

Beth winced and looked towards the direction of the gunfire. "What's that?" she asked frightfully.

"Don't worry. It's probably Rick finishing off the walkers," Maggie answered.

Beth wrapped her arms around herself, closed her eyes, and cried.

Maggie walked over to Beth and hugged her like she did in the common room. "Sssh, it's okay," she said softly.

BRAKKA!

The last shot made Beth wince again, and she threw her arms around Maggie and hugged her tightly.

Hershel hobbled over to his daughters and stood beside them. "Beth," he said firmly.

Beth looked up from Maggie's shoulder.

"This **is** the end of it," Hershel said. "Rick chased away the Governor; he's just put down the walkers. Now, we can repair the gate, and after we clear the field of the dead, we can start planting those tomatoes, cucumbers, and soy beans that I mentioned the day we arrived. We can have lives here. This can be our home."

Beth smiled broadly at her father. "Yeah, that would be great, huh, Dad?"

Hershel looked over his shoulder at Cell Block C, and when he looked back at his youngest daughter, he smiled. "I believe it would."

The Greene's heard someone running towards them from the direction of the courtyard, and they looked to see Glenn come to an abrupt stop, and lock eyes with Maggie.

"Glenn!" Maggie cried as she opened her arms wide. A second later, Glenn ran forward and embraced her.

"Rick said you were here, checking on Beth," Glenn said after he stepped away.

Maggie wiped her tears away and nodded. "She's fine. Dad's fine too," she said.

"What about Rick and the others?" Hershel asked.

"They're fine," Glenn answered as he looked at the old farmer. "It was close, but they're fine."

"I'll assume that Rick is gathering up the dead and taking them away for burning," Hershel continued.

"Yeah. Rick said something about scouting for a clearing to burn the walkers. I didn't catch all of it; I wanted to be here and check on—"

Hershel lifted his hand, signaling Glenn to stop rambling. "Relax, Glenn."

Glenn blushed and lowered his head. "Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Rick's going to need a lot of help," Maggie said. She looked over at Beth and her expression softened. "I have to go."

Beth nodded in understanding. "They're all dead now, right?" she joked nervously.

Maggie walked over to Beth, placed her hands on her sister's shoulders, and kissed her on the forehead. Maggie looked over at their father, and he nodded also. Maggie looked at Beth one more time, smiled, and she and Glenn walked towards the courtyard.

•••

Rick had left the empty M14 rifle with the rest of the Governor's guns beside the half empty duffel bag, and was walking along the courtyard with John and Sasha. Up ahead was Cell Block D; the Woodburians had finished clearing out the cell block of its executed prisoners, and they were sitting in the courtyard with their backs against the wall, catching their breath, wiping the sweat from their brows, and drinking water from canteens or plastic bottles. The dead prisoners were laid out in rows, their arms still tied behind their backs, their glass-like eyes staring up at the sky.

Eddie stood profile and took a swig of bottled water. He wiped the back of his hand across his lips, and noticed Rick, John, and Sasha walking towards him. "Hey, we heard the shootings. How'd it go in the field?" Eddie asked as he faced Rick and the others.

"As well as I could've hoped," Rick answered as he stopped in front of the older man.

"You guys killed all the walkers?"

"Yeah," Rick answered as he sighed with relief. "They got a little too close for comfort, but we got them all."

"Yeah, we got them all, but we burned through plenty of ammo to do it," John said as his wife Donna walked over to his side. "Just how stocked for ammo are you, Rick?"

Rick looked apprehensively at John. He thought he should tell the Vietnam veteran about the prison's ammunition supply, but he also thought that he couldn't trust him. "We have enough," he answered.

"Well, "enough" ain't going to do us a hell of a lot of good if the Governor, or some other group, rolls up on this prison."

Rick shifted his posture and kept his anger in check. He knew that his group and the Woodburians had to work together to rebuild and defend the prison, and arguing constantly with their self-proclaimed leader wouldn't help accomplish both goals.

"John, we've got enough ammo…for now. The important thing is getting these bodies out of here and burning them before we get a plague on our hands."

John glared at Rick, but its intensity quickly receded; he removed his Atlanta Braves cap and nodded in defeat. "So did you and your people burn these walkers after you all took this place?"

Rick thought back to the day he, Daryl, and Glenn were gathering wood for the pyres. He had just slipped through the opening in the fence line, and saw Lori, Carl, Beth, and Hershel—on his new crutches—walking along the courtyard. Lori spotted him and they stared hopefully at each other for a moment. Then Rick's eyes widened in horror as he saw the walkers staggering towards Lori.

"Hey, Rick?" John's voice called out through the heartbreaking memory.

Rick blinked and saw John—the Braves cap back on his head—and Donna staring at him. "Yeah?" he asked.

"I asked where did you burn the damn walkers?" John asked irritably.

"In a clearing in the woods," Rick answered as he thumbed over his shoulder at the trees beyond the fence line.

"Do you think we can use the same spot again?"

"I…checked it out a few days ago," Rick answered as he remembered when he wandered around the woods, searching for Lori's spirit. "There's still a pile of bones and ashes. We'll have to burn them someplace else." Rick answered.

John looked at the pile of dead prisoners and grimaced in disgust. "Does this prison have a flatbed trailer?"

"It does; in the motor pool."

John looked at his wristwatch. "It's almost noon," he said. "If we start hauling the dead out now, we can burn them before the sun sets."

"I already told the others I was going to find a new clearing," Rick said. "Sasha, back me up. The gunfire will have drawn walkers, whether we wanted it to or not. Glenn's in charge until we get back."

"You've got it, Rick," Sasha nodded.

"Just tell your big sister to forget her period and help clean up this mess before you leave," John quipped.

Sasha stepped forward and grabbed John by his jacket. "I've heard enough from—"

"All right, stop it!" Rick ordered as he stepped in between Sasha and John.

Donna moved behind John and charged Sasha. "Let go of my husband, you bitch!" she shouted.

Donna slapped Sasha across the face. The young woman let go of the Vietnam veteran and attacked the older woman. The two were soon trading punches, cursing, and pulling each other's hair. Rick, John, and a few other Woodburians rushed in and separated the two women before they injured each other.

"You damn bitch!" John snapped at Sasha, "if you ever hit my wife again, I'll—"

"Shut up!" Rick shouted.

Sasha and Donna stopped cursing, and they—along with the Woodburians—looked fearfully at the former sheriff's deputy.

"I don't care if you all hate each other," Rick explained, "but I won't have all of you fighting each other! We can't rebuild this prison—and we can't defend it—if we start fight amongst ourselves! We've all lost people, and we've all been through hell, but did we all come this far, only to end up killing each other over some petty shit?!"

Sasha and Donna—panting heavily—glanced at each other and lowered their heads in shame.

"Now, Sasha and I have to go and find a place to burn these bodies. Glenn is in charge until we come back, and I hope that between now and then, none of you kill someone else because you thought they weren't pulling their weight."

Sasha and the Woodburians looked shamefully at the pavement. Rick let his words sink in for a few moments before he turned around and started walking towards the motor pool, but if he looked over his shoulder, he'd have seen John had raised his head and was sneering at him.

•••

"Tyreese?" Sasha asked quietly as she peaked inside the common room of Cell Block C.

"Yeah," Tyreese's voice answered bitterly from the shadows.

Sasha opened the courtyard door further and the sunlight revealed Tyreese sitting at a table, with his hands folded and his head bowed. She walked over to her big brother and sat down beside him.

Tyreese looked at Sasha and blinked in surprise. "What the hell happened to you?" he asked as he sat straight.

Sasha's eyes widened and she gingerly touched her tousled hair and her rumpled clothes. "It's nothing, just a misunderstanding with Donna."

Tyreese huffed in disgust and looked down at the table again. "This ain't a prison…it's a nuthouse."

Sasha glared at Tyreese for a few moments, but her expression softened and she placed a hand atop her brother's. "Tyreese, we're going to burn the walkers," she said.

"But…" Tyreese said, anticipating his sister was about to say a warning.

"Rick said we need to find a new spot where we can burn them."

"So?"

"So, I'm going to help Rick find one," Sasha answered.

Tyreese leapt out of his chair and looked wide-eyed at his sister. "Are you crazy?!" he shouted.

Sasha, startled by Tyreese's reaction, stood up from her chair. "Wha…what are you talking about?" she asked frightfully.

"All that damn gunfire will bring walkers from miles around!" Tyreese shouted as stepped towards Sasha. "If you go outside those fences, they'll tear you apart!"

"T-Ty," Sasha stammered as she backed away from her brother, "you need to get a grip."

"The hell I do! If Rick wants to commit suicide, let him! You ain't going to end up bit!"

Sasha took a breath and stood her ground. Tyreese stopped in his tracks, and the two siblings glared at each other.

"Do you remember when we were kids?" Sasha asked. "You protected me from the bullies and the jerks. I was so proud when you made varsity on the football team, and when you signed with the Falcons."

Sasha shook her head disapprovingly. "You were my hero, Tyreese. What happened to you?"

"What happened to me?!" Tyreese asked incredously, while pointing at himself. "What happened to **you**?!"

This time, it was Sasha who blinked in shock and whose mouth dropped wide open. "What…what are you talking about?!" she stammered.

"Cut the shit, Sasha!" Tyreese shouted. "Every time I look at you, you've got that goddamn machine gun in your hands. You're always aiming it, pretending to pull the trigger like you're in some Die Hard movie! You barely talk to anyone. You're going crazy, just like everyone else around here."

Sasaha's shocked expression turned to rage. She raised her open right hand and swung it at Tyreese.

SLAP!

"You coward," Sasha hissed at Tyreese.

Tyreese touched his reddening cheek, but he didn't reply to Sasha's statement.

"Do you really think we're safe now?" Sasha asked. "We're not; we never will be. It's like we're on an island and were surrounded by an ocean filled with sharks! We have to stay on guard. We have to stay strong!

"But you, you'd rather…sulk in the dark like some…brat!" Sasha shouted. "Did you see the look John was giving you in the courtyard? He's lost all respect for you, and you know something else? So have I."

Tyreese blinked in surprise and he opened his mouth to say a rebuttal, but he thought for a moment and closed his mouth.

"Like I told you, I'm going with Rick to find a new spot for the fire," Sasha said. "If you want to prove to me that you really are the brother I looked up too, you'll get your ass outside and help John and everyone else clear out the dead."

Sasha let her glare scorch Tyreese a little longer, and he lowered his head in shame. Sasha stomped off towards the courtyard door, opened it, and stomped outside. The door closed behind her. A moment later, Tyreese raised his head, looked at the courtyard door, and walked towards it. He reached for the doorknob, turned it, and opened the door. A cold breeze struck him and he shivered, but he stepped outside.

•••

BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

The first bullet struck the walker in the chest, but the second struck it in the forehead. The walker teetered like a chimney that took a glancing blow from a wrecking ball, and a moment later it fell into the open field.

A few feet away, guarding the shattered main gate, Karen lowered her M4A1 rifle. Glenn and Maggie—both of whom discarded their heavy riot armor—spun around and looked at the prison's newcomer."Jeeze, Karen!" Glenn gasped in surprise.

Maggie, however, wasn't as tolerant. "Hey! What's wrong with you?!"

"I'm sorry!" Karen apologized as she turned towards the young couple. "I just saw that walker come out of the woods and my instinct—"

"Rick said if any walkers show up, stab them; we only shoot them if we don't have a choice!" Maggie said angrily as she stomped over to the Woodburian.

"I said I'm sorry." Karen replied coldly.

The two women glared at each other and Glenn stepped in between them. "It's okay. It's okay," he said nervously, "it was a just a mistake. We all make them, right?"

Maggie turned her attention towards Glenn. "We just spent most of the ammo we collected putting down those walkers. We can't risk attracting more of them here!"

"Yeah, well…" Glenn muttered timidly.

"If more walkers are on the way, what difference did two more shots make?" Karen interrupted.

Maggie shook her head in disbelief. "Oh, that's brilliant. Don't forget to tell Rick that when a new group of walkers takes over this field!"

"Listen, bitch," Karen said as she tried to push Glenn out of the way, "if you think Rick's the only expert on how to survive in this—"

An engine rumbled atop the hill; Maggie, Glenn, and Karen looked up and saw a Jeep Cherokee—one of the Woodbury vehicles left behind in the Governor's attack—coming down the road. Rick was behind the wheel, and Sasha was in the passenger seat. Rick slowed the jeep down and came to stop past the shattered main gate. Rick opened the driver's side door and climbed out, while Sasha opened the passenger door and climbed out as well.

"Is everything all right?" Rick asked as he walked around the front of the jeep and stood beside Sasha.

"Uh, just a difference of opinion," Glenn said, as his eyes darted back and forth from Maggie to Karen.

"We heard gunfire," Sasha said, holding the AR-15 rifle she used to put down the last of the walkers.

Maggie and Karen glared at each other for a moment, and the Woodburian slung her M4A1 rifle over her shoulder and stepped forward.

"It was me," Karen confessed. "A walker came out of the woods and I shot it. I'm sorry. I…I should've used a knife."

Rick looked at the corpse lying in the field, partially obscured by the tall grass. "Did you have a chance to use a knife or a club?" Rick asked, looking now at Karen.

Karen sighed wearily and ran a hand through her long, dark hair. "Maybe. When I saw the walker come out of the woods, I just shot it. I mean, yesterday the Governor killed my friends and he almost killed me too. Then some walkers showed up and I had to lock myself in a truck and watch as my friends were eaten or turned."

A tear ran down Karen's eye and she brushed it away. "I'm not making excuses," she said, "I'm only saying I saw that walker, and I shot it."

"It's all right, Karen," Rick smiled as he raised a hand to signal a stop. "We've all been there. Just be more careful next time."

Karen smiled gratefully, while Maggie folded her arms across her chest and walked away from the group.

"Glenn," Rick said to the young Korean. "I told the Woodburians that you're in charge until Sasha and I get back, so don't let John push you around."

Glenn nodded and opened his mouth to speak, when Maggie shouted far behind him, "Walkers!"

Rick and Sasha looked up, the others turned around, and they saw a shocked Maggie pointing towards the tree line. All four of them looked towards the left, and they saw three walkers—with torn clothing, rotting flesh, and golden eyes—staggering out of the woods.

"Shit!" Rick hissed through clenched teeth.

Glenn's hand reached for the Gerber Gator Machete that would've been sheathed on his hip, but it was gone. He remembered dropping it when he was attacked by a walker in Cell Block D; Maggie had picked it up, but she left it behind in the anteroom. Glenn looked at Maggie, and he was suddenly running, and he wrapped his arms around protectively.

Karen screamed and brought her M4A1 rifle up to her shoulder, but Rick grabbed the barrel and shoved it down at the ground. "Don't shoot!" he ordered.

The three walkers growled and staggered closer towards the five survivors. Rick dug into his back pocket, took out his Gerber DMF folder, flipped the blade out, and looked over his shoulder at Sasha. "Come on!" he ordered.

Rick didn't wait for Sasha to react. Instead, he ran towards the three walkers, with his knife held tightly in his hand.

The walker ahead of its two comrades growled louder and raised its hands to grab Rick, but the former sheriff's deputy grabbed it by its throat and drove the blade of his knife into its forehead.

SHUKK!

The walker shut its mouth like a steel trap; its arms fell to its sides, and its legs went limp. Rick pulled his knife free and dropped the corpse like it was a laundry sack and prepared to face to two remaining walkers.

A defiant cry burst from behind Rick, and out of the corner of his eye he saw someone rush past him. A moment later he realized it was Sasha. She struck the nearest walker with the butt of her AR-15 rifle, and the walker spat out a few of its teeth and dark blood as it fell to the ground. The last walker froze as if it was surprised by Sasha's sudden appearance, and the young woman used its hesitation to swing her rifle.

WHACK!

The rifle's butt struck the walker's temple like a baseball bat, and it fell onto its side, motionless. Sasha stood over the prone walker, raised her rifle over her head, and brought the butt down on the walkers head again and again.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Sasha stopped bludgeoning the prone walker. She panted and took a few steps backwards. When she lifted the AR15, she saw the buttstock was covered in dark blood and pieces of skull and brain matter. When Sasha looked at the prone walker, she saw to her horror that she had broken its skull open and inside it was a dark pool of blood and a crushed brain. Sasha dropped her rifle and doubled over with her palms on her knees and started coughing.

The walker she had knocked down earlier now sat up and turned its head towards Sasha; it growled and reached a hand out to grab her leg.

"Sasha, look out!" Glenn shouted as he let go of Maggie and they both ran towards their friend.

SHUKK!

Glenn and Maggie stopped running. Karen stayed where frozen in place, gripping her rifle.

Sasha spun around and looked at the ground. Rick was kneeling behind the walker, who had a blade spiked at the top of its skull. A moment later, Rick pulled the blade out, and a thin streak of dark blood flew off it. Rick wiped his knife clean across the walker's shoulder, stood up, and the walker's upper body slumped onto its side, dead.

"Are you all right?" Rick asked Sasha, as he folded the blade back into its handle.

Sasha glanced down at the dead walker again and looked back at Rick. "I'm good," she answered.

"More walkers will be here sooner or later," Rick said as he looked over his shoulder at the woods, "we have to find a clearing to build a pyre and start burning these bodies."

"Then why not make this job easier and burn the walkers in one of the fields along the road?" Maggie asked as she gestured at the paved road that lead to the prison.

Rick glanced at the road and shook his head. "No. The clearing has to be in the woods, and far away from the prison as possible. The fire needs to look like it was caused by lightning, not us; otherwise some group might see it and we'll have another battle on our doorstep."

Maggie and Glenn glanced at each other. They glanced over their shoulders at the dead walkers in the field behind them, and then they looked at Rick. "This job got even harder," Maggie said sullenly.

Rick grinned. "Surviving was never going to be easy."

•••

"One. Two. Three," Eddie said as he tightened his grip on the legs of the executed prisoner.

A moment later, Eddie lifted up the prisoner's legs, and Tyreese lifted up the prisoner's upper body, and the two men carried the heavy corpse towards the flatbed trailer where they placed it atop the few corpses they and the other Woodburians had placed atop it. The trailer itself was hooked up to the Dodge Ram 1500 truck, one of the vehicles Rick and his group had acquired during their nomadic winter.

Tyreese removed his knit cap, wiped it across his forehead, and exhaled.

Eddie looked at Tyreese and shook his head in amusement. "Goddammit, son, I'm twice your age and I haven't broken a sweat yet."

"I'm sorry," Tyreese said as he put his knit cap back on his head. "I'm just not used to this shit."

Eddie chuckled. "Be grateful you and your sister weren't in Woodbury when we had to clean it out! And I don't just mean the streets; there were the cars, the apartments, the shops, and the market."

Tyreese grimaced and looked back at the dead prisoners lying on the ground. John and Floyd were stand in front of one row of corpses, selecting which one looked the lightest for them to pick up and carry to the trailer.

"It was dirty work, but in a few days the town was livable again," Eddie continued as a smile crept on his face. "Luckily we had the Governor to organize things and set up the walls…"

Eddie's voice trailed off and the smile fell from his face as quickly as it appeared. Tyreese looked worriedly at Eddie and put a comforting hand on the older man's shoulder. "Hey, are you okay?"

"The Governor…he murdered those people," Eddie whispered.

"Yeah," Tyreese said, remembering how he and Sasha took the risk of refusing to join the Governor's army. If they had gone with him, they both would've been shot down on the side of the road.

"The Governor…he made Woodbury work. He kept everyone safe," Eddie continued as he began to tremble. "We trusted him. We believed him; we believed him when he told us Rick and his people were a gang of killers."

Tyreese closed his eyes and lowered his head as he remembered his first meeting with Rick; how the man suddenly went mad, aimed his gun at him, and chased him, Sasha, and their group out of the prison. If Tyreese hadn't of met Carl and Hershel first, the Governor's lies about the group in the prison would've have been easy to believe.

John and Eddie picked up a dead prisoner and they carefully made their way towards the trailer.

"Hey, are you both going to step aside or do I have to knock you both down?" John grinned as he strained with his share of the corpse's weight.

The two men smiled at John's good-natured joke and stepped aside and watched the Vietnam veteran and the former postal worker loaded the corpse onto the trailer. John wiped his hands clean, and Eddie rubbed his lower back.

"So what're you boys talking about?" John asked as he looked at Eddie and Tyreese, "Because the last time I checked, the NFL season was cancelled."

Tyreese looked past John and remembered his brief football career; coming out of the tunnel with his teammates in his helmet, pads, and home jersey; the cheers of the crowd, the reverence as the band played the national anthem; the roar of the jets flying overhead and the crowd cheering once again at the thump of kickoff and the start of the game.

"I wish we were," Eddie said, bringing Tyreese out of his warm memories, "but we were talking about that son of a bitch we called the Governor."

John huffed angrily and rested the palm of his hand on the grip of his Colt 1911 pistol holstered on his hip. "I should've shot that nutcase when I first met him," he grumbled.

"Why did you guys pick him as your leader anyway?" Tyreese asked.

John, Eddie, and Floyd looked at each other awkwardly, and a moment later they walked away from the trailer. Tyreese glanced at the rows of corpses again, and saw two Woodburians carrying a corpse towards the trailer, so he sprinted to catch up with the three older men.

"When me and Donna arrived at Woodbury, the Governor—I mean Philip Blake—was more or less the one in charge," John said as he walked towards the aluminum benches.

"More or less?" Tyreese asked.

"There were so few of us back then, and so scared of our own shadows or a bump in the night. The decisions were made by the guy with the most backbone," Floyd explained, "and more and more it was Philip."

"Too bad you guys didn't know then what you know now," Tyreese said, shaking his head.

"Remember what I told you kid, 'he made Woodbury work'," Eddie said defensively.

"Damn right," Floyd said as he sat down on the bench's bottom row. "Once those streets were cleared and the walls put up, Woodbury was like…what's that place? You know…in Asia?"

John and Eddie looked at each other and shrugged. "It sure as hell wasn't Vietnam," John joked as he sat down beside Floyd.

"I think you mean Shangri-La," Tyreese said with a smile.

"Yeah, that's the place," Floyd nodded fondly.

Eddie and Tyreese walked up the benches and sat behind John and Floyd. The four of them watched silently as their fellow Woodburians filled the flatbed trailer to its capacity with corpses and went back inside Cell Block D to rest.

"It's going to be a long day," John said glumly.

"If Philip were here, he'd give us a speech, and we'd all dig deep and keep on working like we just listened to JFK," Eddie quipped.

"Rick seems pretty good at speeches," Tyreese said.

"You noticed that too?" Floyd asked as he looked over his shoulder at the former football player.

"Yeah," Tyreese answered with a nod.

"Of course you all did; Rick's our new leader, isn't he?" John asked contemptuously as he stared out into the distance.

•••

Karen was leaning against the main guard tower with her M4A1 rifle in her hands when she heard the rumble of an engine. She stood up straight and looked down the road, where a dot grew bigger and closer with every second.

It was a Jeep Cherokee, kicking up a cloud of dust behind it. But the jeep wasn't the same color as the one Rick and Sasha took out of the prison. The jeep's horn blared, and Karen's heart skipped a beat. "We've got trouble!" Karen shouted as she brought her rifle up to her shoulder.

In the field behind Karen, Glenn and Maggie were dragging the dead walkers into rows in preparation for their eventual transport out of the field. The blare of the jeep's horn made them drop their burdens, but it was Karen's warning that made them run to the half empty duffel bag, Glenn pulled out the FN FAL assault rifle, Maggie pulled out an AR-15 rifle, and they both ran towards the main gate.

Karen aimed down the iron sights of her M4A1 rifle as the Jeep Cherokee drove towards her. She saw two shadowy figures inside it, but couldn't tell who they were.

Glenn and Maggie covered the left side of the shattered main gate, but when they saw the jeep's occupants, they grinned and lowered their rifles.

"It's Daryl and Carol! They're back!" Glenn shouted happily as he waved at Karen.

Karen looked at Glenn, who nodded, and she lowered her rifle.

The Jeep Cherokee slowed down as it approached the shattered main gate. Glenn and Maggie waved at Daryl and Carol, the former housewife waved in return, but the redneck glared at the young Korean as he drove up the hill and onto the courtyard.

Glenn turned towards Maggie and put his free hand on her right shoulder. "I'll be right back," he said quickly.

Maggie blinked in surprise. "Glenn? What—"

"I told you I was going to apologize to Daryl, remember?"

Before Maggie could reply, Glenn had handed her the assault rifle, and was running up the hill.

•••

As Daryl drove along the courtyard, Carol looked at the dead prisoners the Woodburians loaded onto the flatbed trailer and left out on the ground. "Our new neighbors have been busy," she said.

Daryl snorted contemptuously.

Daryl pulled the Jeep Cherokee up to the prison's garage, put it in park, and killed the engine. He sighed wearily and leaned forward on the steering wheel like it was a pillow.

Carol looked at Daryl and saw how exhausted and sad he was. She reached out to touch his shoulder when a figure appeared at the driver's side window that made her leap back in surprise.

"Daryl! Hey, Daryl!" Glenn shouted as he pounded his fist on the driver's side window.

Daryl huffed angrily, and sat back in the driver's seat; he didn't bother to look at Glenn.

"I'm glad you and Carol are back!" Glenn shouted happily.

"We ain't the only ones back," Daryl said angrily as looked over his shoulder at Merle's corpse, wrapped up in blankets and ropes and lying across the rear passenger seats.

"Uh, are you okay, Daryl?" Glenn asked nervously.

Daryl hit the automatic door lock button, and the locks popped up. Glenn suddenly felt himself being pushed back as the driver's side door opened. Daryl stepped out and closed the door behind him. Glenn regained his balance and saw Daryl glaring at him. A moment later the redneck turned back to the jeep, opened the rear passenger door, and reached inside. Glenn heard another door open and close, and saw Carol, standing on the other side of the jeep.

"What happened to the truck?" Glenn asked.

"We made a trade with some Spics," Daryl answered angrily as he tugged on a heavy object wrapped in blankets and ropes lying atop the rear passenger seats.

"What's he talking about?" Glenn asked Carol.

Carol opened the rear passenger door on her side of the jeep and took out Daryl's Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow. "We got into a gunfight with a gang," she answered.

"A gang?!" Glenn asked wide-eyed. "What happened?"

Carol shut the rear passenger door, slung Daryl's crossbow over her shoulder, and said nothing.

Glenn looked at Daryl again and saw the covered object he was pulling off the rear passenger seats was a body. The young Korean realized the body was Merle's and he lowered his head in regret as he remembered his harsh words this morning about Daryl's older brother.

 _He shouldn't be buried here!_

 _Did you forget that Merle kidnapped Maggie and me? He beat the crap out of me, and then he threw a walker at me!_

 _Merle let the Governor put his filthy hands on Maggie! He knew what his boss was going to do to her, but he let that bastard touch her!_

 _Merle was a killer. He wasn't one of us!_

Glenn took a deep breath and looked up at Daryl, who was now holding Merle's covered body in his arms. Glenn noticed quickly that blankets covering Merle's back were shredded and bloody.

"Daryl," Glenn said meekly, "I'm—"

"Shut up," Daryl grumbled.

Glenn shut his mouth and looked timidly at the angry redneck.

"You think you're better than Merle because you grew up in a nice home, or because you've got an education, but you're really hidin' behind your morals because you're scared. Scared of what you'd have to do to survive out there," Daryl said contemptuously.

Glenn kept quiet and stood still. Carol watched with a sympathetic expression on her face.

"It's easy to be all high and mighty after you've come back from a run, or you're hidin' behind some walls. But would you take a piss on your morals if it meant you'd survive? Would you sacrifice your life for a group of dumb bastards that treated you like shit?"

Glenn lowered his head and said nothing.

Daryl glared at Glenn for a few moments and, after adjusting his grip on his brother's heavy corpse, stomped past the young Korean. Carol likewise adjusted the crossbow slung over her shoulder and followed Daryl inside the prison's garage.

 **TO BE CONCLUDED**


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

An exhausted Daryl struggled again with the weight of Merle's corpse wrapped in blankets and ropes, so he knelt down on both knees and gently laid his brother down on the prison's garage's cold floor. Daryl then sat down, and resting his forearm atop his knee, closed his eyes and panted slowly for air.

Carol, with Daryl's Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow slung over her shoulder, walked over to his side and watched him sympathetically.

After a few moments, Daryl caught enough of his breath to unsheathe his Busse Team Gemini knife.

"What are you doing?" Carol asked.

Daryl looked up at Carol and then he looked at Merle's corpse. "I'm goin' to cut Merle loose," he explained.

"Merle can wait for a while," Carol said gently.

"No!" Daryl shouted as he gestured with his knife at Merle's corpse. "I let Merle run off and get killed by that one-eyed bastard! I ain't leavin' him like this! I'm puttin' a fresh blanket over him, and I'm goin' to bury him right!"

Daryl, his tantrum over, dropped his arm and his knife hit the floor with a clang. He then lowered his head in exhaustion and grief. Carol still watched him, her expression still sympathetic.

The minutes passed and when Daryl finally regained his strength, he picked up his knife and leaned over to cut the first rope that secured the blankets around Merle's corpse.

"Merle can wait for a while," Carol repeated in the same gentle tone.

Daryl lowered his knife and looked over his shoulder at Carol.

"When I said I was going with you to bring Merle back, you warned me that there was no telling what we'd run into. Well, we ran into a gang, a herd, and we barely survived both. I'm hungry and tired and I'll bet you are too. So you can get something to eat and rest, or you can wrap Merle in a new blanket and bury him. But if you do the latter, I'll probably have to dig a grave for you too. So what's your decision?"

Daryl kept looking at Carol, and then he looked at Merle's corpse, a few moments later he hung his head in defeat and sheathed his knife. When Daryl looked up at Carol again, she was smiling softly and was offering him a hand; Daryl took hold of it, and she helped him to his feet. Carol then unslung Daryl's crossbow off her shoulder and offered it to him, he took it, nodded his thanks, and the two of them walked out of the prison's garage.

•••

Rick was driving the Jeep Cherokee towards the prison's shattered gate when he saw a scuffle developing to his right. As he slowed down, he realized it was five Woodburians, led by John, and they were armed with axes, brush hooks, and shovels. They were charging a small group of walkers who had staggered out of the woods.

"The gunfire drew them here," Sasha said shamefully.

"It couldn't be helped," Rick said as he resumed looking straight ahead.

Sasha watched as the Woodburians stabbed or struck the walkers, the blows knocking them to the ground and the ones that weren't killed instantly were bludgeoned until their heads shattered like watermelons. "Maybe…maybe we could've thought of another way to deal with the walkers in the field," she pondered.

"Taking those walkers hand-to-hand would've been too dangerous. Those guns were our best and only option," Rick explained.

Sasha glanced at Rick and watched as John and his group wiped their weapons clean to the rags the walkers wore. She noticed that one of the Woodburians was the gruff carpenter Eddie Nowak. "Tyreese says I've changed," she said.

Rick kept his eyes on the road but he shrugged. "Well, I think the same can be said for all of us."

"No," Sasha said as she looked at Rick again. "Tyreese was really angry at me. He said all I do these days is carry a gun around and stay quiet. I can't say he's exaggerating. My conversation with Maggie and Glenn this morning was the first one that last more than ten seconds. I have changed, and maybe for the worse."

Rick smiled. "Remember the first time I met you and your brother? I was shouting like a madman and then I chased you both out of the prison at gunpoint. Are you sure I'm the right guy to talk to about this?"

Sasha looked at the AR-15 rifle in her hands, opened her fingers, and closed them again. "I'm serious, Rick. I mean, last year I was a model, now I'm shooting monsters like I'm in a video game. Am I losing my mind? Am I going to kill a living person one day?"

Rick glanced at Sasha again. "I understand how you feel. When I was a cop, the thing I was most scared of was getting into a gunfight. In fact, the day I was shot was the first time I fired my gun in the line of duty."

Rick looked at the shattered gate; Karen saw them coming towards her and she lowered her M4A1 rifle. "It's okay to be scared," he told Sasha. "Being scared reminds you that you're human. But if you have to pull a trigger to stay alive, then that's what you do." Rick them eased his foot on the break, and the jeep came to a stop. "Killing someone in self-defense is justifiable, but killing someone who's unarmed or defenseless, that's cold blooded murder."

Karen slung the M4A1 over her shoulder and walked towards the driver's side window. "Did you find a clearing, Rick?" she asked.

"Yes," Rick nodded, "and it was Sasha who found it."'

"Really?"

"Yeah," Sasha said. "It's behind the prison. Our group rested there while Tyreese scouted ahead. If only we had gotten inside the prison faster, Donna would've…" the young woman closed her eyes and remembered the kind, frightened woman who was bitten by a walker when she was just yards away from safety.

"Allen told me about Donna, and how good you were to her and their son Ben. I'm sorry they're both dead," Karen said.

"Thank you," Sasha said.

Karen looked at Rick. "So when can we take the first batch of dead out to be burned?"

"Right now," Rick answered. "Sasha said she'd lead a group to the clearing. I need to check up on Carl and Judith. I might also see if we have enough food left to give everyone a lunch break."

"You've got some other people to check on, Rick," Glenn called out as he and Maggie walked over to the jeep.

Rick opened the driver's side door, and Karen stepped back so he could step out. "Is it Daryl and Carol?" he asked as he closed the door.

"Yeah, only they're in no mood to talk, at least Daryl isn't."

"What do you mean?"

"Daryl and Carol came back a while ago—"

"In a different car," Maggie interrupted.

Rick looked back at Sasha, who was climbing out of the passenger side while holding her AR-15 rifle by its barrel. "A different car?" he asked when he looked back at Glenn and Maggie.

"Yeah. A Jeep Cherokee, just like this one," Glenn answered.

"Except theirs is cleaner," Maggie added with a smirk.

"Are they all right?" Rick asked.

"They looked worn out, but they're all right," Glenn answered. "I tried to talk to Daryl, but he cut me off, and I…I don't blame him for it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sasha asked.

Glenn blushed as he looked at Maggie, who nodded. Glenn put his hands on his hips, took a deep breath, and looked back at Rick. "This morning when Daryl told Maggie and I that he was going to bring Merle back for a burial…I…said that Merle shouldn't be buried here. I said…Merle was a killer, and he wasn't one of us."

Rick, Sasha, and even Karen grimaced at the ugliness of Glenn's confession, while Maggie looked relieved that Glenn didn't repeat the humiliating story of the Governor forcing her to take her shirt off, and bent her over a table in an attempt to force her to reveal the prison's location. Finally, Rick shook his head and looked disappointedly at the young Korean. "Glenn, what were you thinking?" he asked.

"I…I wasn't thinking. I was still angry at Merle. I'm sorry," Glenn said.

"Save the apology for Daryl," Rick suggested.

"I…I tried! But he cut me off!" Glenn wined.

"Give him some time and try again."

"Yeah, I know. I know," Glenn nodded.

"Trouble with the help, Rick?" a voice taunted.

Rick and his group turned around and saw John and the five Woodburians walking towards them, their makeshift weapons cleaned and carried loosely in their hands. "It's nothing that concerns you, John," Rick said politely.

John huffed in amusement, took his Atlanta Braves cap off, and wiped his forearm across his forehead. "Yeah, right," the Vietnam veteran said as he put his cap back on. "Merle's little brother and that mousy woman came back a while ago; we all saw him carrying Merle's body wrapped up in blankets like Dr. Frankenstein's lab experiment and talking to the Vietnamese kid."

"I'm Korean!" Glenn snapped.

John huffed again. "Whatever. I guess all that shit doesn't concern me either, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," Rick said as he glared at the Vietnam veteran.

John glanced over his shoulder at the five Woodburians, looked back at Rick, and threw his hands up dramatically. The brush hook in John's hand caught Rick's eye and he saw the blade was covered in blood and brain matter. "Well, can you at least tell me you found a spot where we can burn these rotting corpses?"

"Yeah, Rick answered with a nod. "Sasha found a spot. Did you load those corpses onto the trailer?"

"The first batch is ready to go. It'll take two trips to get rid of all the corpses," John answered.

"Good. Once the corpses from Cell Block D are taken away, we'll load up the dead walkers in the field."

"What about the walkers we just killed?" Eddie asked, as he pointed a callused thumb over his shoulder.

"The priority is clearing the dead walkers off the field. The ones you and your men just killed can stay where they are for now," Rick answered.

"Besides, if more walkers show up while we're out here, we'll only be throwing more fuel onto the fire," Maggie added.

"Then let's get started," Rick insisted. "John, get that truck rolling, Eddie you and your men will unload the corpses. Glenn and Maggie, get some rifles and cover them. Sasha, lead them to the clearing. Karen, keep guarding the gate. I need to go inside Cell Block D for a bit."

The Woodburians nodded or muttered in agreement, but John gave a mock salute. Rick caught the gesture, but decided it was best to say nothing about it.

•••

Daryl and Carol sat at one of the tables in the common room, eating hot oatmeal greedily. Carl, Hershel, and Beth sat at the table beside them, watching as they ate.

"You both were in a gunfight?" Carl asked wide-eyed as he leaned forward in his chair.

"Carl," Hershel admonished the awestruck boy.

Daryl wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and glared at Carl. "Goddammit kid, can I eat my oatmeal in peace?!"

Carl went pale with fright and sat back in his chair, signaling he'd ask no more questions. To his left, Beth trembled as she clasped the collar of her jacket.

"Daryl," Hershel admonished the redneck in the same stern tone as before.

"What? Did I forget to say Grace before I ate?"

Hershel didn't respond, but he gave Daryl a look that a kind father would give to a prodigal son.

Daryl looked down at his bowl of oatmeal, scooped up a spoonful, and swallowed it. The redneck felt a foot kick him lightly on the shin; he looked up and saw Carol, sitting across the table from him, looking at him in disapproval. Daryl lowered his head again and sighed. "Sorry," he muttered. "We barely got out of there. I'm glad we're back." Daryl glanced bashfully at Carol. "I'm glad we're all right."

Carol blushed, looked down at her bowl of oatmeal, and picked at it with her spoon.

The vestibule door creaked open, and the common room's occupants watched as Rick walked inside. Suddenly, the anger and grief Daryl felt over Merle's death returned and he dropped his spoon in the empty bowl and he balled his fists. Across the table, Carol's eyes widened at Daryl's reaction to Rick's presence, and she leaned forward slightly. "Daryl," she whispered pleadingly.

Daryl looked at Carol, and saw the worried expression on her face. He huffed, but relaxed his fists. Carol smiled appreciatively.

"Daryl. Carol. It's good to see you both are back," Rick said as he approached their table.

"Thanks, Rick," Carol said.

Daryl glared at Rick, and said nothing.

"They were in a gunfight," Carl said as he looked up at his father.

Rick stopped in his tacks and looked down at Carl. "What?" he asked in disbelief.

Hershel sighed wearily and braced himself for the excited questions and reluctant answers to start again.

Carol glanced at Daryl and looked at Rick. She continued picking at her oatmeal as she nervously tried to best explain the gunfight. "Uh, Rick—"

"Daryl and Carol got into a gunfight with a gang," Beth said flatly.

"Beth," Hershel said sternly as he looked at his youngest daughter.

Rick glanced around at the five people in the common room. "What? How?" he babbled.

Daryl watched the rising tension in the common room and struck his fist on the table like a judge's gavel. Carol noticed his agitation and she reached over and placed her hand atop his. Daryl looked at Carol and she shook her head; he nodded and rested his hand on the table. Carol smiled.

"They were in a gunfight," Carl repeated as he pointed at Daryl and Carol.

Rick nodded at Carl. "Yeah, I heard you say—"

"What's the big deal, Dad?" Beth asked as she stood up and looked at her father. "Daryl and Carol ran into a gang, and they killed them. It's no different from killing walkers, right?"

Daryl closed his eyes and breathed angrily. Carol squeezed his hand gently to remind him she was there for him.

Hershel shook his head and raised a hand to signal a halt. "Now wait a minute, Beth. If you're twisting this incident around so you can compare it to your sister helping put down those walkers—"

Daryl opened his eyes and pulled his hand free from Carol's grasp. Carol saw that Daryl's anger was boiling again and she began to tremble.

"Excuse me," Rick interrupted. "But could someone please tell me what happened?"

"We killed a gang of Spics!" Daryl shouted at Rick.

Rick, Carl, Hershel, and Beth looked at Daryl as if a fire alarm was ringing behind him. Carol lowered her head and continued trembling. A few moments later Hershel shook his head in disproval. "Daryl, you shouldn't say—"

"What? Did I break the law?" Daryl asked as he stood up and glared at Rick. "Well, what're the charges, **Officer Grimes** : murder, racism, and manslaughter?" Daryl chuckled and shook his head. "It's a damn shame that an American citizen can be arrested not just for defendin' himself from a gang, but for identifyin' them to a cop! But that was where the PC winds were blowin' **before** this country went to shit. So what about manslaughter?" Daryl scratched his temple and shrugged. "No, I don't think manslaughter would stick to me. You know what manslaughter is, don't you **Officer Grimes?** That's where you kill a man without meanin' it!"

Rick lowered his head in shame as he knew Daryl was talking about his going to Merle and telling him about the Governor's deal for peace: handing over Michonne. Rick had convinced Hershel into accepting the deal and they both were able to convince Daryl, but they'd need help if they were going to get Michonne to the meeting spot which was the feed mill. Rick said he'd talk to Merle…alone.

•••

Rick went into Cell Block C and found Merle tearing open the mattresses in search of drugs. He was disgusted by the sight of a junkie looking for a fix in light of the desperate situation the group was in, but he kept his disdain in check long enough to tell Merle about the offer, and that he needed his help to do it.

Merle just glared at him, with the same disgusted expression on his face that Rick had moments earlier. _"You go on. Give him that girl,"_ Merle said. _"He ain't gonna kill her you know. He's just gonna…do things to her. Probably take out one of her eyes, both of 'em most likely. You'd let that happen for a shot. You're cold as ice, Officer Friendly."_

Rick went into the courtyard to scrounge for the wire that Merle suggested he'd use to bind Michonne, and that's when he saw Lori's spirit atop the catwalk, looking down at him. _"You're not there. She's not there,"_ he said, trying to ignore his wife's spirit and focus on the task at hand, but he couldn't. That's when he realized handing Michonne over to the Governor, even if he kept his word, was wrong.

But when Rick and Daryl went looking for Merle, they discovered he had already left with Michonne.

Daryl left to try and stop his brother. A few hours later, Michonne returned alone and unharmed. She said Merle had let her go and driven to the feed mill. She met Daryl on the road, and he continued on to the feed mill. For the rest of the afternoon, Rick kept watch for Daryl atop the courtyard's tower, with Dale Horvath's Remington 700 VLS rifle in his hands, while on the courtyard below, Carol nervously watched the empty road, as the walkers staggered around the prison's field. As the sun sank into the horizon, and exhausted Daryl ran out of the tree line, his crossbow clutched in his hand. Carol smiled broadly, and screamed out the redneck's name. Rick aimed down the hunting rifle's scope, and picked off one of the walker's as a distraction, while Carol—with Michonne's help—pulled back the section of fence for Daryl to slip through before the walkers could grab him. Daryl doubled over and panted heavily for air, as Carol excitedly asked if he was all right, but when Rick down to them, Darylstopped panting, stood straight, and glared at the group's leader as he spat out: _"Merle's dead."_

•••

Rick shook the fog of memory and looked at Daryl. The hate in his eyes was gone and replaced by weariness. Carol was standing beside him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Daryl…I'm sorry about Merle," Rick said. "I should've said that earlier. I'm sorry that I told him about the Governor's deal. I…knew what the Governor had store for Michonne, but I took the deal anyway, at least for a while. I…I was thinking about the group."

Daryl was looking at the floor, and he huffed wearily. "I should've fought harder against the deal. I should've stuck with Merle," he muttered. Daryl turned around, picked up his crossbow that was leaning against an empty chair, and slung it over his shoulder. "I'm beat," he said as he looked at Carol, nodded in gratitude, and walked into the cell block.

Carol, Rick, and the others watched Daryl walk away. Then Carol looked at Rick, and for the first time, the sheriff's deputy saw the weariness in her blue eyes, and she turned around and followed Daryl quietly.

A minute later, Rick asked, "That gang Daryl was talking about: did he and Carol kill them all?"

"They did," Hershel answered.

"Cool," Carl grinned.

Rick looked aghast at his son, while Beth shook her head. "You both sound happy that more people are dead," the young girl said angrily.

"I for one am not, Beth," Hershel said as he looked at his youngest daughter. "I'm saddened that people were killed, but they had bad intentions, and they tried to kill Daryl and Carol."

"They got what we should've given to the Governor," Carl said, as he glared coldly at Beth. The glare frightened the young woman and she looked down at her intertwined fingers.

"That's enough, Carl," Rick said sternly. The boy looked up at his father, saw the authoritative expression on his face, and looked down at the floor in shame.

"How are the three of you doing?" Rick asked.

Hershel glanced at Beth, who was now looking down at her intertwined fingers. "We're fine, Rick," the old farmer answered.

"How's Judith?" Rick asked Carl.

"She's fine," Carl answered quickly. "I heard Carol tell Hershel about the gunfight, so I put her in her crib and ran over to hear about it. I'm sorry, Dad. I—"

"Go check on her," Rick ordered.

Carl nodded, stood up, and walked towards the cell block. Rick sat in the empty chair and he sighed as if the weight of the world just fell off his shoulders. "It's been a hard day," he said as he closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"It'll all be worth it once the prison is secured," Hershel reminded the group's leader.

Rick tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and laughed lightly. "I hope so. We've already had a few walkers stumble out of the woods," Rick opened his eyes and—for a moment—looked overwhelmed. "Can you imagine winning this war against the Governor, but still losing to the walkers?"

"Let's not go down that path," Hershel advised. "Now that we've taken back the field, we need to replace the gate. How do we manage that?"

"I'm not sure," Rick admitted with a shrug.

"We need to think of something. More walkers will surely alive," Hershel said.

"Well, Henry Matheson from the Woodbury group might be able to replace the gate. In the meantime, we'll take one of the prison squad cars down to the fence and use it as a barricade."

Hershel nodded and looked at Beth who had sat back down in her chair, but was still looking down at her intertwined hands. "Rick, after we put up the new gate, we should also put up some defensive measures," the old farmer said.

Rick grinned. "Defensive measures, Hershel? Have you been studying military strategy along with the Bible?"

"I'm serious, Rick. When that new gate is constructed our lives will depend on it. We need to have some sort of barrier to defend it."

"So are you saying we need to dig a moat around the gate?"

Hershel shook his head. "Actually, I was thinking we could put up a cheval de frise."

Rick's jaw dropped. "A what?" he asked.

"A cheval de frise," Hershel smiled. "It's a log with dozens of wooden spikes."

Rick blinked in response.

"Did you ever read a book on the Civil War, Rick?" Hershel asked with a smile. "The Confederacy used them in the defenses around Vicksburg, Atlanta, and Petersburg."

"Yeah, but those logs with spikes didn't help our forefathers win the war," Rick said.

Hershel smiled again. "We don't have to worry about William Tecumseh Sherman or Ulysses S. Grant this time, just an uncountable number of unfortunate souls who'll eventually pay us a visit."

"I saw a wood shop and some lumber not long after we moved in," Rick said. "It shouldn't be hard to build those pincushions."

Hershel nodded. "I think we're doing well."

"Except for that one thing we talked about this moring: food," Rick reminded the old farmer. "We've got some hungry people outside, and taking all those corpses away and burning them will only make them hungrier."

Hershel frowned and lowered his head. "I suppose I spoke too soon. Carol said all we have left is oatmeal. There's plenty for all of us, it's just a matter of cooking and serving it."

"I can do that," Beth said as she stood up from her chair.

Hershel reached for his crutches and began to pull himself up, but Rick helped the old farmer onto his one leg. "It'll be a lot of work, Beth," Hershel warned his youngest daughter.

"It's all right, Dad," Beth said cheerfully as she picked the pot up from the serving table and carried it over to the hot plate in the corner. "I want to help."

"That's very good of you, Beth," Rick said as he stood beside Hershel.

Beth smiled as she poured a small bucket of water into the pot, followed by emptying a box of oatmeal, and then she turned on the hot plate. "Rick, could you visit Cell Block D and ask the ladies from Woodbury to come over? They can take the extra boxes of oatmeal and cook lunch for their group."

Rick shook his head in amusement. "Sure thing, Beth," he said. Rick then turned around and headed towards the side door. "Hello, neighbor," he quipped as he opened the door and stepped out into the courtyard.

•••

"Okay. On the count of three," John said as he held onto a corpse's shoulders. Floyd nodded as he held onto the corpse's feet. "One…two…three."

John and Floyd tossed the last corpse off the flatbed trailer, and it landed onto the ground with a thud. A black man named Alonso Rawlins, and a white guy named Greg Manning, came forward, and they grabbed the corpse by its arms, and they dragged it to the pyre of corpses in the center of the clearing.

The clearing was two miles behind the prison, and they had to drive over broken ground and underbrush to reach it, but John had to admit that Rick was right about keeping the pyre under wraps. If the Governor returned, or a desperate mob showed up, there would be a battle for the prison. John looked over at Sasha, Glenn, and Maggie, guarding the perimeter. He wished he was with them, with an assault rifle in his hands, instead of unloading corpses for a glorified trash fire.

John signaled to Floyd that they should climb down from the flatbed trailer. The timid, retired postal worker nodded. John leapt down, but Floyd stuck his leg out like a toddler stepping into a wading pool. John shook his head in disgust and walked over to the small group that included Tyreese sitting near the truck. "Tuckered out already, boys?" he asked with a grin.

"Screw you, John," one of the men panted.

John looked over at Alonso and Greg and watched as they leaned the dead prisoner against the other corpses in the pyre. The two men walked away from the pyre and sat amongst John and the group, while Eddie picked up a gas container and walked slowly around the pyre, dousing it with the flammable liquid. Once the container was empty, Eddie put it down, dug into his jacket pocket, and took out a plastic lighter and some folded bills. Eddie looked sadly at the money, and then he put the lighter's flame to them, and dropped the burning money onto the gasoline soaked corpse of a prisoner. A small ball of fire shot up from the corpse, which made Eddie leap back. The flames spread quickly across the other corpses, and a column of dark smoke curled up into the afternoon sky. The smell of burning flesh drifted towards the group Woodburians and they coughed in disgust and covered their noses with their hands or their shirts.

"This is desecration," Juan said through his T-shirt.

"Is it time for a religious conversation, Juan?" John asked as he sat down beside the Latino handyman. "Because I miss those talks we used to have during those early days in Woodbury."

"I was just saying we should bury them. It would be the Christian thing," Juan explained as he pulled down his T-shirt.

"I hear you, but we'd need an excavator to dig a mass grave, and that would waste too much gas and make too much noise. Burning them is easier and faster."

"Si, but that doesn't make this any easier."

"Nothing's been easy since the world went to shit," John quipped.

Eddie walked over and sat down amongst the group. "You good, Eddie?" Tyreese asked with his knit cap in his hand.

The older man looked over his shoulder at Tyreese and grinned. "Yeah, just got my eyebrows singed, that's all."

"You got a few Ben Franklin's singed too," John grinned.

"You noticed that?" Eddie asked, looking at the Vietnam veteran.

"Hey, my eyes aren't that old," John answered while pointing at his eyes. "How much money did you burn? $300? $500?"

Eddie looked at the burning pyre and his eyes watered. "It was $1,500."

Everyone in the group except Tyreese groaned painfully.

"You were carrying $1,500 all this time?" Greg asked in amazement.

"Yeah, just before I got to Woodbury, I stopped at one of those 24-hour convenience stores, you know, the kind that's beside the gas stations?" Eddie explained. "Well, I knew the gas was long gone, but I hoped there might be some food left in the store. A bag of chips, a bottle of water, something! Well, it was picked clean all right; even the hotdogs on those slow rollers under the lamps were gone. I glanced over the counter, and saw the safe was wide open. Maybe the attendant kept a gun in there or something. I jumped over the counter, picked through the safe, and came up with a handful of bills, $1,500 in total."

Eddie's fellow Woodburians either whistled in surprise or muttered amongst themselves. Tyreese smiled wistfully. "Man, it wasn't that long ago when $1,500 was just pocket change to me."

"It was more money than I made in a month," Eddie admitted. "I know stealing it was wrong, but I scooped it up, counted it, and stuffed it into my jacket pocket."

"So tell me this, Boy Scout: why'd you steal the money?" Alonzo asked with a smile.

"I was worried about how I'd pay my way when things got back on track," Eddie answered.

"Pay your—are you kidding me, Eddie?" Alonzo sputtered.

"Hey, I've never stole a thing before I walked into that store, and I don't want to steal again!" Eddie argued. "I just…thought I'd need it. Haven't other people taken worse, or haven't they done worse, since the dead started walking around?"

John, Tyreese, and the Woodburians glanced at themselves; no one said a word.

"When I got to Woodbury, I found out I didn't have to pay," Eddie continued. "At least that's what the Governor told me. The truth is that I was paying my way in Woodbury, only I was paying with my freedom instead of with that money."

"I thought Woodbury was a lifebuoy," Eddie said as he watched the pyre burn. "All we had to do was hold onto it long enough and we'd drift back to the way the world used to be! Now, it's gone! And all our hope for the world is gone with it!"

Eddie continued to watch the burning pyre, while John, Tyreese, and the Woodburians stared ahead and thought about Woodbury, the Governor, and those members of their town that followed him to the prison and were now dead.

Finally, John stood up, brushed the grass and dirt from the seat of his jeans, and looked down at his group. "I'm sorry that we upset you, Eddie. You did what you had to do, and we're lucky to have you with us."

Eddie looked up at John and smiled appreciatively, while Tyreese and the Woodburians muttered in agreement.

John looked towards the direction of the prison, which was obscured by two miles of forest. "You said Woodbury was a lifebuoy. Well, that lifebuoy sprung a leak and sank. All we have now is the prison, and we can't let anything…or anyone, sink that, because this time we'll all drown for sure."

The Woodburians applauded John's speech, and it was loud enough to make Glenn, Maggie, and Sasha look over their shoulders and see what was happening behind them.

"All right, stand the hell up and get back in the truck," John ordered. "We have to pick up those walkers Rick's people left in the field and burn them before the damn sun goes down."

The Woodburians stood up in unison and walked towards the Hyundai Tuscon. Glenn, Maggie, and Sasha looked at each other; Sasha nodded and the three lowered their weapons and ran to the Jeep Cherokee, with Sasha glancing over her shoulder at the shadows in the forest.

•••

Daryl woke up, rolled onto his side, and yawned loudly. He blinked his eyes open and after his eyesight focused, stared at the desk bolted on the opposite wall and the toilet in the corner. A minute later he sat up in the bottom bunk and grimaced as he stretched his limbs. Then he rested his forearms on his knees and rubbed the back of his neck as he looked at the sunlight trickling into his cell from the barred windows of Cell Block C.

How long had he slept, at least an hour? The food and the nap rejuvenated him more than he'd care to admit, but now it was time to bury Merle.

Daryl climbed out of the bottom bunk, and put on his denim jacket with leather sleeves along with his leather biker vest. He then looked at the top bunk where he kept his weaponry: the old Horton Scout HD 125 crossbow, his new Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow, the green plastic tube he used a quiver for his spare arrows, and his Colt Official Police revolver. Daryl wouldn't need his weapons to bury, Merle, but he'd need his Busse Team Gemini knife, which was sheathed on his hip.

Daryl stepped onto the second tier of Cell Block C, and peeked into the cell next door. Inside the cell he saw Carol, sleeping in the top bunk and with a heavy blanket covering her. Daryl leaned against the door frame and watched Carol sleep. She had changed a lot from the timid and abused housewife he'd met at the quarry outside Atlanta; now she was confident and strong. She now she was confident and strong. She had even saved his life today, and even though he hadn't exactly said 'thank you', he felt like she believed it wasn't necessary.

Daryl realized that he too, had changed. A year ago he was indifferent, now he cared about the group, especially Carol. Two days ago, before Daryl left the prison to try and stop Merle from trading Michonne to the Governor he stopped Rick from going with him and said he was family too. Was the group really his family? He supposed that was true. He knew a man couldn't do things without people anymore; he tried to tell Merle that, but his big brother didn't want to hear that.

Daryl walked quietly into Carol's cell and stood beside her bunk. He looked at the peaceful expression on her face and he watched as her chest rose and fell with each breath. Yes, the group was his family, and Carol was to him, its most precious member. After watching Carol sleep for a minute Daryl decided it was time to leave. He had just turned towards the open cell door when out of the corner of his eye, noticed the blanket covering Carol was dangling over the edge of the bunk. Perhaps Carol had thrashed around in her sleep earlier. Daryl reached out carefully, took hold of the blanket, and spread it over Carol evenly. He smiled at her again, and then he walked out of her cell and walked towards the second tier's staircase.

•••

Daryl returned to the prison's garage with a bundle of fresh blankets and ropes under his right arm. He stood over Merle's covered corpse, and looked at it sadly. A minute later he dropped the bundle, unsheathed his knife, knelt down and angrily cut the ropes around the bloody and bullet-riddled blankets, and then he tore the blankets away. Lying before Daryl was Merle: a metal covering with a bayonet attachment for his amputated right hand, two fingers from his left hand bitten off; a small, bloody 9mm bullet wound in the center of his chest, and numerous stab wounds to his face and forehead. A think puddle of dark blood had settled around Merle's body; the result of a full magazine of 9mm bullets puncturing his back when Daryl used him as a shield during the gunfight with the Latino gang.

Tears ran down Daryl's face, and he wiped them away like they were a rash. After he composed himself, he looked at the metal covering on Merle's right arm. Ever since the day Daryl returned to camp and was told Merle was left behind in Atlanta, he had hoped he'd miraculously find his older brother; instead, Merle was found by a manipulative psychopath, who covered up the stump and the end of Merle's right arm with a pig sticker, and tried to make both brothers fight to the death for the amusement of his people. Daryl reached for the metal covering, unbuckled it, slipped it off Merle's right arm, and threw it with all his might into the garage's shadows, where it crashed and knocked down a few other metal objects.

"Daryl," a concerned voice called out from behind him.

Daryl looked over his shoulder and saw Carol standing in the doorway, and wearing her cargo jacket again. "I thought you were asleep," he said as he stood up.

"I was," Carol said as she walked closer to Daryl. She glanced down at Merle's corpse, and she shook her head sadly. "Do you need any help with Merle?" she asked.

"Why not?" Daryl shrugged. "It ain't like we're goin' to get into another gunfight."

Carol smiled softly. She picked up one of the fresh blankets, and spread it out on the garage floor. Daryl knelt down, picked up Merle's corpse, and carefully laid him down on the fresh blanket. Carol picked up the second blanket; Daryl took one half, and they both placed it atop Merle. Carol stepped back as Daryl lifted Merle to a sitting position and wrapped the blankets around his brother's heavy frame. He gestured for the ropes, and Carol handed them to him one at a time as he wrapped them around Merle and tied a secure knot. Daryl then took a deep breath, picked up Merle, and walked out of the garage with Carol at his side.

•••

Several of the Woodburians were on the courtyard; most of them children, playing basketball of playing tag. When they saw Daryl walking across the courtyard with a heavy body wrapped in blankets and ropes in his arms, they screamed in fear and ran to the safety of their parents. Daryl grumbled angrily and began walking faster, while Carol looked at Daryl worriedly and walked faster to catch up with him.

Daryl made the turn around Cell Block C, and walked towards the group's cemetery when he slowed down and stopped in his tracks. "What the hell…?" he asked in a whisper.

Carol caught up to Daryl. She looked downhill at the group's cemetery and saw Rick, standing in a grave, shoveling out dirt. Rick's jacket and gun belt were lying in front of the grave he was digging. Daryl and Carol glanced at each other and looked back at Rick, who was unaware of their presence. Daryl adjusted his grip on Merle's heavy corpse, and he and Carol walked towards the sheriff's deputy.

Rick drove the shovel's tip into the grave, and he had just put his foot on its step, when he looked to his right and saw Daryl and Carol walking towards him. Rick took his foot off the shovel, stood straight, and nodded at his two friends.

Daryl reached the grave, set Merle's corpse down beside it carefully, and stood up. "What's all this?" he asked.

Rick put his foot back onto the shovel's step, dug out some dirt, and shoveled out a clump of dirt. "No reason you should do all the heavy lifting, right?"

Daryl looked at Carol, who smiled and nodded at him. Tears began to fill Daryl's eyes and he looked back at Rick, and nodded his thanks. He and Carol walked to the left and sat down at respectful distance and Rick continued his digging. Minutes passed, and after a six foot grave was dug, Rick tossed out the shovel. Daryl stood up, walked over to the edge of the grave, knelt down, and offered a hand to Rick. Rick took hold of Daryl's hand, and when both men were certain the grip was firm, Daryl pulled Rick out of the grave.

"Get Merle's feet," Daryl said.

"All right," Rick nodded.

Daryl picked Merle's corpse up by the shoulders, while Rick picked up the feet. Daryl stepped cautiously into the grave, and a moment later, Rick carefully guided Merle's lower body into it. Daryl laid Merle down, looked up, and saw Rick offering him a hand; Daryl took it, and Rick pulled him out of the grave. Carol handed Daryl the shovel, and he slowly shoveled the pile of dirt onto Merle's corpse.

The minutes passed at Daryl finished shoveling the dirt into the grave. He was just patting the dirt down with the shovel when he heard some rustling coming from the top of the hill. He looked to his right, and saw Hershel, on his crutches and wearing his black jacket, hobbling his way down to the group's cemetery.

Rick slipped on his jacket, buckled on his gun belt, and tilted his head in curiosity. "Hershel, what are you…?"

"We're burying a member of the group, Rick?" Hershel said. "And I'd like to say a few words over the departed. That is, if the next of kin approves."

Rick and Carol looked at Daryl, whose eyes began to fill with tears again. "Thanks," he said with a broken voice.

Hershel hobbled over to the head of Merle's grave, while Rick bowed his head and stood respectfully. Carol stood beside Daryl and she slipped her hand into his. Daryl intertwined their fingers and he began to weep. Hershel took his worn Bible from his jacket pocket and searched for the appropriate verse; when he found it, he cleared his throat, and began to read aloud:

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.

Thou prepares a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

"Lord, we give unto you our brother Merle Dixon," Hershel said. "We ask forgiveness for his trespasses and we ask forgiveness for our trespasses against him. It is written that 'Greater love hath no man that this: that a man lay down his life for his friends.' That was true of Merle, even though we failed him in friendship. We give thanks for Merle's sacrifice and vow in his memory that it shall not be in vain. We vow to persevere. We vow to live again."

After a moment of silence Hershel said, "Amen." Daryl, Carol, and Rick repeated the vow quietly.

Merle's funeral was over. Hershel closed his Bible, returned it to his jacket pocket, and began to hobble up the hill on his crutches while Rick aided the old farmer make the slow and arduous climb. Daryl and Carol were still holding hands while with their free hands, they wiped their tears away. Daryl then picked up the shovel, and he and Carol followed Rick and Hershel up the hill. None of them noticed that behind the prison, the burning pyre's black column of smoke rose higher into the afternoon sky.

 **THE END**


End file.
